After a 900k round trip to the airport and saying creepy goodbyes I come back to a home-cooked meal, wake up to breakfast in bed and pre-order Moron 5’s new album/He’s fat for good pig dresses and smells of bad pepper here/Good work, guys, you found the halloumi and got knitted to death for being noisy/It’s funny that it tastes like there’s more soot in the dry roasted peanuts than the salted ones/Let’s talk about manly things like boobies and fries/She’s so cool you can comb your hair and look like you/The crowd are stunned and stoned are delighted I want to cry/I deliberately go on Cardiff journeys to get mishearings/Omelettes and upwards/Why have United not signed Vidal? Janet Jackson on a very curious case/Her London is brilliantly strange: a tiny circumcised domestic world, but also one that offers undreamt-of novelty and possibilities/When will this end? They take it, they out it back, they take it again. My home is turning into a whorehouse/KEEP HANDS CLEAR. MOVING FARTS!/I need a bottle comb over and a fat wank/Wanna see the cheesus/There’s a log from the Antarctica/Sawyer saw the picture, but that’s OK cos you know that girls like history/Are you wearing a skeleton?/I’ve been making pans for the future/Song by gash board confessionals and cruel lettuce/All the wrong days are getting me down/The naked chef has all the disobedience you need in a good fighter/So the gaily lad went along/You can get Corrigans from drinking a random glass of alcohol/Duke of Edinburgh leaves London hospital 11 days after having celebratory surgery/As the sun returns, so do the females, allowing the males to head out to sea. Now they can build up enough fat reserves for another gruelling wedding season/All threw the night out of your hands/Coats Winter Wantin’ For Real/Yeah, it’s really well because er, because he has ahhh, many, many spellings, ‘nd good quality, ehhh, for the team it’s really well, and for me it’s much better because I canna speak Spanish/Having a curry tonight: go home, wank in the microwave and tuck in/This was a Romford for Uwe Rosler’s men/Scott Carson kept his shit clean/Blood stunt dresses can be re-sold so we’ll have to wee group/Ain’t no stopping us now we’re on the moose/Could I have the lad lord’s number, please?/These people live longer than I wish.