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How the hell do you poison a vegan?

What a year’s it’s been. First I lost the coy carp, then I got some new coy carp, then I got married, then I went to Australia, then I went to Mexico and got really, really sick, then I went to Barbados, then I went to Hawaii for a crucial World Meteorologist Rain Avoidance Conference, now I’m back in Blighty and apparently the new wife wants a new divorce!

Well, I said, so long as I get to keep the coy carp I don’t give a damn.

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We’ll all be subconsciously inclined to leave the TV on standby

Jesus. I ventured outside yesterday for the first time since I got back from China. My balls may have defrosted in March, but my mind has been buried in an iceberg of frozen coy carp since January. I ate them with chips.

Now thankfully, the nightmare of our brutish winter is over, and I am full of the joys of spring. New woman. New passport. New aquatic species imported from Portugal (they’re great at diving). Here’s your seven-day forecast.

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I’m freezing my fucking balls off

Have a good Christmas everyone? Bet you’re glad you didn’t spend it chained to a mad Chinaman, locked inside a cell with nothing to eat but dog food. And I don’t mean food intended for dogs. Fortunately, my captives were belatedly hit with the festive spirit yesterday and decided to put me back on a plane to England, provided I never write another negative thing about China again and rebuke my previous report.

I have to say, there’s nothing better for an asthmatic than to breathe in some clean, fresh smog of a morning. And you’ve got to taste their dog food, it’s something else.

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Apparently, the word ‘smog’ is an acronym for Sado-Masochistic Olympic Games

Welcome to Beijing. I’ve been sent here by those sadistic bastards back at The Taxman, who told me that it would be scorchingly hot and packed full of cheap, easy women.

They were right – but what they forgot to mention was that, as an asthmatic, I wouldn’t be able to leave my hotel room. Here’s the seven-day forecast.

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What do you mean, you want to know what the weather’s going to be like?

Damn, I tell you what, it really pays to have a good lawyer these days. It has certainly been a torrid winter.

There were some occasions when I wished they really would lock me up. At least in prison I don’t have to cook for myself. Or do the washing up. Time I found a new wife.

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That global warming thing can’t happen quick enough

Following the death of my ex-wife, I’ve been enjoying some of the finer things in life.

Short-haul flights to Barcelona, driving my 4×4, and, of course, shooting foxes. Anything to take my mind off the dark shadow soon to be cast over my life. No, not the legal dispute with my ex-mother-in-law, I refer instead to the horrid time of year known as winter.

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I don’t care what my psychologist says, I hate bloody rain

Having just awoken from a self-induced coma following my overdose on anti-depressants, I am completely unaware of the last couple months’ weather. I keep asking people, but they refuse to tell me.

I’m now seeing a psychologist, who has already diagnosed me with ‘hydrophobia’, a fear of precipitation. Apparently it’s common in my profession.

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