Filled in the census form today. The wife said she couldn't do it because she's allergic to pens.
It's funny that, but this 'pen allergy' only usually manifests itself when there are letters to be written, forms to fill in, cards to write and what have you - but she experiences temporary remission if she's doing a sudoku, orwriting telephone numbers down on the backs of old envelopes.
She's a bit weird like that. She doesn't store details on her laptop, or her iPhone or even in an old fashioned address book - she fucking scribbles shit down on the backs of envelopes.
She calls it "My system" and insists that she knows where everything is. Which is an absolute load of old bollocks. If I ask her where the number is for - say a Chinese or Indian takeaway, she'll say:
"It's on the back of the gas bill."
"Where's the gas bill,"
"On top of the telephone bill."
And so on.
Confused? I know I am.
Anyway - it was me who filled in the census form. She reckons it's so 'they' can spy on us, but I reckon that's just another shitty excuse she uses so that she can get me to fill the fucking thing in while she looks at yet even more shite on eBay.
She got us tickets today for the stage production of 'Mrs Brown's Boys' - the sweary Irish telly thing with Brendan O'Carroll - except the stage show's called 'Good Mourning Mrs Brown.' Should be a laugh. There's a trilogy of books by Brendan O'Carroll about Mrs Brown - I read 'em years ago. And if memory serves, there was a movie too, with Anjelica Houston as Agnes. The stage show's more of a farce though, like the recent TV series. O'Carroll's milked the MRS Brown character for all it's worth. Still, it should be fun.
No footy this weekend - unless you count England. Don't think I'll be watching that. Watching England is like watching fucking paint dry. All patchy. Boring as arseholes.
Got to go - it's my turn to put the kettle on.
She's on eBay - of fucking hell...now she's got the tape measure out...