Did you not know, jOhn? It's one of the filips of the peace dividend that one can pick up heavy armaments at ridiculously reasonable prices, and rather than dabble in gun crime, I am purchasing a Panzer in which to go out drinking in Barton, and then warn anyone who starts somthing that I'm packing heat.

What a simply dreadful night and morning. I was just settling into some tunery at the Six Bells, when the worried face of one of my offspring was pressed against the pub window. Wouldn't you know it; Me chimney was on fire. House full of hysterical women demanding to call the fire brigade, who changed tune when graphically told what the colateral damage to the house entailed. And incidentally, why are they called Fire Fighters? Shouldn't dustmen be called Refuse Fighters? Or the polis Fighter Fighters? I withdrew the fire, took out the flue between stove and chimney, stuffed the flue hole with a wet towel, and eventually regained the Six Bells to find my flock engaging in Pop Music! Honestly!

This morning dawned with an blossoming abscess, so it was down to the tooth doctor short order, who prescribed extraction of the chap above the abscess. After deep injections, I swear that Doctor Mengele had their boot on my jaw to get more purchase. The anaesthetic was useless, the pain extreme, but there was no way that mother was coming out, so I am now anti-b'd and drugged beyond the eyeballs, with gums in tatters, no booze for the next five days, when the next assault will take place. That in turn guarantees more anti-b's over Crimbo. Deep joy.