For tonights debauchery I shall not be moving the living room rug.
Normally, it has to perfectly parallel with the fireplace. If it is not then this sends Mrs TG in to a sort of demented state which involves me being shouted at best or possibly being poked in the eye with a sharpened pencil. It is now at about a 40 degree angle to the fireplace and I ain't moving it.
Hard me.
Mind you, the bastard cat got it's revenge. It has taken to sleeping in the washing basket in the bedroom. Of course, no-one told me. Last night I threw some dirty clothes (or was it boots?) into the slot and the fvcking moggy exploded out the top like a rocket powered, clawed projectile. I nearly had a heart attack.
I'll have the bastard.
