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

A pavement-fried egg

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.


One thing I’ve learned in my daily counseling sessions is to look on the bright side of dark and gloomy weather. So this weekend, the wet conditions will be fantastic news for all those slugs out there. That is, until I squash them, because I hate the bloody things.


The wind and rain will allow homeless people to get a good wash, and hopefully not stink next time I’m forced to walk past them.


Heavy rain will bring joy to all those who enjoy catching a good cold.


Sod it. Sod it to hell. I don’t care what my psychologist says, I hate bloody rain.


It’s so hot in Greece right now they’re frying eggs on the pavement. I tried to fry an egg on Kensington High Street this morning, now my wife’s got food poisoning. I don’t know, you try to do something nice by cooking breakfast and what do you get in return? Nothing but hassle. Where’s my divorce lawyer?


That’s it, I’m off to Greece on my long-overdue summer holiday. And I’m packing four dozen free-range for good measure. Hopefully when I get back my ex-wife will still be in hospital.


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