Common Law goes back to work tomorrow. My father Finbar, his lovely wife Janice and my demi-soeur who's anonymity I shall preserve, arrive from Canada on Tuesday. Wednesday, we all go for dinner. And the day after, I don't know, I suppose my fucking arms will fall off or something.
You want I should address these issues? You'd like to hear me bitch about my imminently increased workload? You feel the need for me to plunge into an Oedipal rant of misplaced rage and guilt? You desire a diatribe on the dodginess of my shoulder joints?
Well, move the fuck along, all that this shit is is another notch on the increasingly elusive twenty in a month bedpost. Expect duck and bike pictures all the way to the 31st.