Sunday Bloody Sunday

Well, that time of the week again.  I don't like Sunday much.  It is far too close to Monday and I always manage to waste the day, up until about 11 p.m. when I often post Mark Lanegan's Wedding Dress on Facebook. And, yes Debbie, he SHOULD pay me.

Now, today I had planned to write. Obviously, I am doing just that.  However, and this is a biggie, does anybody else find Blogger a pain in the arse to use?  I went to my last blog, thinking I could just kind of, you know, follow on.  I think what I have done instead is created a whole new Blogger persona. While I may be able to write fairly coherently, I do not get anything associated with website's that is not ultra easy.  I don't just mean 'For Dummies', I mean for those, who like me are practically illiterate when it comes to pressing simple..(hahaha, yeah right) buttons.

So, any suggestions, I'll give it a go.

Right, Sunday Bloody Sunday.  Let me tell you all about my upstairs neighbour and the strong feeling that I have deep inside that I could easily commit murder.  As an aspiring crime writer, this may in fact be a very good way to get some first hand experience and contribute to a much more realistic story for my readers. (* I don't actually have any readers, I am just VERY optimistic).

My upstairs neighbour bought a guitar.  Or at least I think he did, since I can not envisage anyone in their right mind giving him one because he is musically inclined.    Almost every Sunday, and today is no exception, out comes the guitar.  He can't play.  He definitely can't sing.  The design of this building makes it feel as if he is in my bedroom with me.  I hate him with a vengeance so pure that I have been known to yell out the windows 'Shut the fuck up you talentless, moronic, half wit!'  I apologise to normal half wits everywhere.  Sadly, he seems to think that this is hilarious and he carries on.  He only sings four words.  'Do you love me?' over and over again.  I have not counted the question mark.  No! You fuckwit, I loathe you.

So, this Sunday, I am ready.  At the moment, he is quiet. I am going to get out of my jammies and into my jeans.  That's a big event for a Sunday.  Then, I shall be ready for him when he starts up again.  And he will.
I have a very large, but slightly blunt, knife, and an extremely short temper.

I am ready for you son.  Do your worst.  I'll show you Sunday Bloody Sunday.


*Dianemc would like to state, for the record, that she is categorically NOT a U2 fan.  In fact, she dislikes them almost as much as him upstairs, but not as much as she dislikes the Beatles and Coldplay.  That's another story for another day though.