Lilac
After work I went for a burger on the High Street. Not a Macshit burger, a genuine culinary delight, a tantalising concoction of real meat and all the trimmings. It was juicy, it was tasty, it kept me quiet for a good ten minutes. I rate biting into rare beef as one of the great pleasures of life. (Dating a vegetarian would involve too much restraint on my part.)
The table next to us was taken over by a Family of five. Out of the three brats, two started fighting over a hair band; the youngest creature hissed, sticky fingers were waved, hair was pulled, teeth were bared; the oldest of the two retaliated by simply poking her sibling in the eye. I thought it was a rather brilliant move. The parents were simply engrossed in the reading of top quality daily news rags featuring naked women.
The underclass also need advice on how to educate their children, don’t they? I usually want to advise parents on the ten best ways to drown their kids. So here’s:

Oi! Wot you looking at? How to raise your kids the Trashy British Way in twelve easy steps.
FAQ section

Should I worry about providing my kids with a balanced diet?
Worry? Why, no. There is no excuse in Modern Britain for not ensuring that your child has a balanced diet. Just look at your local high street – there are so many different types of fast-food outlets that it would be a positive failure to ensure that your child doesn’t eat a variety. Try a menu planner : Monday, Burger King. Tuesday, Kentucky Fried chicken. Wednesday, MacDonalds’. Thursday, Wendy’s. Friday, Dunkin Donuts; Saturday, for a treat, Pizza Hut, and so on. On Sunday, the local chippie will do.

Communication is a real problem. I don’t seem to get through to my kids anymore. What to do?
Besides changing mobile phones operators, try the traditional method: shouting. This technique works especially well late at night in tower-block stairwells, where you can get a decent echo to reinforce your point.

Apart from that, it’s Friday night.
The lilac is in full bloom.
My tan is fading already.
Today I wore my purple shoes.
After a 48 hour stint, our gas supply is back on; we can now wash with hot water, and consume hot food. On the downside, there is a hole in our front garden where a Jean Genet lookalike (but with fewer teeth and a Yorkshire accent) had to dig to ‘find the pipe’; Twice.
I miss my girlfriend.