18th August 2017
Now if I have one regret about moving into my current house, it’s my assumption that the screaming skulls lining the walls of the cellar would eventually get tired or bored and move on, but alas, like my drill sergeant told me when I fought in that war, “Assuming something is like painting a cloud with regret: you need a long ladder.” He was a fucking idiot, my drill sergeant.
        So today, as I was trying to practice my harp-playing on the harp given to me by the woman who holds the world record for shooting the smallest skirting board off a tramp’s eyebrows, I’d finally had enough of the skulls’ subterranean caterwauling and went down there to give them a piece of my mind.
        The skulls blamed their twattish noise on swamp gas and lunar shifts but I wasn’t having any of it so I put an end to their bony (M) nonsense with violent movements. Satisfied that justice had been served, I ate my harp in triumph then settled in for the evening with my Hunter season 1 boxset.