I wrote this ghastly diatribe to my eldest two children today. And then I sent it. God forbid. But who can care when push comes to shove. It was true according to how I feel. Which I have never been very good at expressing. Take the blame and then shut up. Don’t pass the buck. It was all my fault.

But it wasn’t. Well, some of it probably, but not entirely. And I am certainly not going to bore the life out of anyone with the details.

However, have you ever heard of Mucky Hunslet? It was a horror story to some not so very gently born people like me. it was seriously fucking awful. Lavatory in your garden? No chance. The Communal Lavatory was down the road a bit, presuming, that you could find your way in the dark. What a laugh that was not..

But Mucky Hunslet was Community. And long gone now. Sad to say. Kieth Warterhouse was born there and he knew what it was. Mucky Hunslet was a good place.

But I am currently more interested in my Septic Tank which is no odds to anyone other than Brussels.

I have been ordered to get it emptied. Does it need to be emptied? Almost certainly not. And I would know if it did. You don’t live on top of a septic tank for thirty years without knowing if it isn’t behaving itself.

But never mind. Just get it sucked out and then get on with it all until the next time they have nothing better to do than harass me.


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