Well, I say Tuesday, but we can't tell for sure, can we? It might still be Monday in disguise, trying to lull us into a false sense of security. Bastard. Anyway, today I are been mostly making up nasty stuff and doing my VAT return. Which is similar, only a lot less fictional. Actually it's not fictional at all. Not even vaguely fictional.

Oh by the sainted hairy Jesus, why did you have to imply that your VAT return was fictional? Are you mad? Don't you expect the Spanish Inquisition?

Just in case there's anyone from Her Majesty's delightful Customs and Excise reading this, maybe while they're waiting for the pokers and needle-nosed pliers to warm up, I have nothing but the utmost respect and bowel-loosening fear for you and your professional position. Which I believe is usually bent over some poor screaming miscreant, trying to extract his spleen through his bellybutton.

I would like to formally state that I am scrupulously honest when it come to dealing with the representatives of Her Majesty's Departments Of Pain And Cash Extraction, because I know that if I ever tried anything fish-flavoured I'd get caught. God knows why -- I've always been a good boy, washed me face and hands before I come I did -- but I'm certain that any impropriety on my part would result in an internal body cavity search involving porcupines and Ralgex. And it's not bloody worth it.

Doesn't mean I got to like it though...

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