When washing machines die and dogs cry

Dig if you will a picture
Of me waking up and needing a piss
oh, sorry mum, I mean a pee
Can you my darlings
Can you picture this?
Dream if you can my bathroom
Fairly standard, not much of a view
Sink, shower, toilet
Washing machine
From which lots of water had spewed

And then a sound while I was sleeping
Through a recurring dream so old
Maybe I'm just too demanding
Why can't I stay in sleep's warm hold?
But a sound was piercing my cover
Coming in from outside (in from outside)
That wee yappy thing I'd like to smother
This is the idea I'm filled with
When dogs cry

Hello chums. Above is Prince's original idea for When Doves Cry. If you'd already guessed this and were humming along, congratulations. If not, don't worry, he generally keeps it pretty close to his chest, and you can't all be the same level as me and the Squiggle-meister (his preferred nickname). I guess he's embarrassed, although I'm not sure why, because at least it makes more sense that crying doves. Next time I see him I'll ask what drugs he was on when he thought he heard a weeping dove.

So, if you're sharp enough to get what I was getting at, my washing machine is broken, and a dog cries every morning. My rock 'n' roll life of teetering on the cusp of excess continues unabated!

A couple of weeks ago, I went out for an evening of refreshments, but only had a couple, as was my want and my terrifyingly increasing level of maturity. Upon awaking the next day I nipped to the loo for a tinkle but something didn't seem right. There was an element of dampness abound in the bathroom, which was not the norm. As I'd just woken up it took me a few moments to identify what was strange, but then realised that I was standing in a puddle. Thankfully I still needed a pee, so despite my decrepitness, reasoned that I hadn't been caught short (phew!). I looked around thinking maybe her upstairs had stepped up her reign of irritation against me by deliberately flooding her bathroom in order to get at me, but while entirely and justifiably paranoid, that'd have crossed my red line from which no amount of mediation by Russia could persuade me to forget. I then though that maybe the water was coming from the washing machine, so like the genius I am, I opened the door, thus unleashing all the dammed up water to wash over my feet like some kind of really bad version of the poseidon adventure. It would seem that my washing machine had miraculously broken overnight, and had been leaking for hours. Huzzah. After mopping it up and some profusely-choice swearing on my part, everything was good again. A new washing machine will arrive next week, and the workies will take the broken one away, presumably to a museum for school children to gawk at while their minds boggle at the technology of the 1970's.

A washing machine that breaks I can live with, even if it continues to fill up despite being unplugged and the water intake pipe switched off. I really don't understand how that works, but non me ne frega. As many of you will attest when my back's turned however, I need my beauty sleep and some effing-dog is stopping me. Bad dog!

About a week ago, it'd seem that one of my neighbours got a puppy. While puppies are often thought of as being cute, this one has a dark side. Or at least a deeply annoying dickish side. Every morning from about 6 to 9 it cries and howls in a way that makes me want to hit it in the head with a spanner. Actually, that's very cruel, I like dogs, so I'll rephrase that to say that I'd like to hit its owner in the head with a spanner. There, much better.

So yeah, it cries and cries and howls and howls, while I lie in bed and seethe and curse and curse and seethe. It only does that at that time of the day too, so I guess its owners are going out between those hours, so after some thought I reckon its owner is an old person, as they're the only people who would get up so ridiculously early, nip to the shops/church and then spend the rest of day at home. Its inherent cuteness is anathema to my other neighbours who have started shouting out the windows at it, threatening to call the police, although these threats fall on highly sensitive (it's a dog after all) but ultimately deaf ears (it doesn't speak human). Someone's put up a couple of signs in the street lambasting the on(an)er, so hopefully my precious delirium-filled sleep will be ok next week.


Che cavolo succede?!


Tomorrow is the Derby della Lanterna (Samp v Genoa), so that'll be nice and relaxing for all concerned. Yesterday Samp had a closed training session in order to keep their diabolical schemes secret. They would have been, had they not been being watched by the Genoa goalkeepers' coach who was dressed from head to toe in camouflage gear and hiding in the woods above the training ground. The club deny that he was operating on their orders, but still, it's all quite amusingly amateur and underhand. Oh, Genoa!

................And finally, thanks to all those who've read my previous blog about football, hold on tight guys, just nine more months to go and I may or may not have a book which may or may not be published.

Til the next time, buy buy (my book if it's published)!