Today's vote is rather simpler than most weeks.
Inflatables: Pneumatic mirth and woe
Choose-o!
And there's not even a chance to suggest fitting the words "and Kirstie Allsopp snapped it in half like Michael Jackson's old man" into the narrative either. And that's final. You're going to start complaining now, aren't you? Your entire raison d'etre snatched from you in the style of Thatcher and a small child's pint of milk.
Excuses, excuses: I'm not here. I've done a runner. All this is an illusion brought on by lack of sleep and terrifying visions of Lord Hutton dressed in cheap lingerie from Primark, the old slapper. Today, I am mostly visiting BBC Television Centre in that there London, whilst on Friday I shall be mostly shopping for a new TV cabinet at Ikea in that there Bristol. This blog is running on autopilot without a driver. I'd leg it if I were you.
In the meantime, the latest bike news.
Monday: Scary bike stolen, reported to insurers and police, who are all very nice about it.
Tuesday: Insurers - "We'll get a replacement bike to you tomorrow." Me - "Coo."
Wednesday: Insurers - "Errr... your new bike. Ha ha. You'll laugh... it was stolen from the depot. Sorry." Me - "You bunch of cocks."
You couldn't make it up.
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