Fearsome Fil drinks their rum & steals their gold!

( Filemina Attley )

All the pictures of animals, yeah, even the fucking ridiculous ones, make me want a pet. Something cute and fluffy. Or fuzzy. Whichever. Which is a HORRIBLE idea. But I still went to a fucking shelter and looked at the animals. Which is ANOTHER horrible idea. If I have anything alive that is dependent on me for it's survival, I'm well sure it will all end in tears. Or some sort of awkwardness.

So I left. And went to the park. And came home with a nice chunk of rock. His name is Spot. Best part is he comes pre-trained and he's cheap as shit to care for. Already housebroken, doesn't make noise and follows commands. He even does tricks. He can sit, stay, play dead and roll over.

'Cept he needs help with that last one still.

Alright. I know it's still a few days away but I'm making this public service announcement now. Every year I'm right in the fucking middle of both a romantic wonderland and warzone. I can only handle so many grousing blokes and pitiful birds whimpering into their pints. It never changes, year after year. So let me, your favourite neighbourhood bartender, impart some of the wisdom I've gleaned from this sad cases and careful holiday observation.

( Attley's Guide to Valentine's Day )

Merlin's saggy balls my eternal thanks to the brilliant sod that created a potion for hangovers. Amazing how the world goes from bloody hell on earth to, alright, not cheery and biscuits and puppies and shite but at least normal. And I can live with normal.

Had to start at my parent's last night. They always expect my brothers and I to make an appearance. But they have better food so I give in. Usually I aim to just get in, load up on free food and drink and avoiding getting cornered into too many awkward conversations. And then get the fuck out of there. It's the same every year, ugly, short and brutal. Like life in medieval England.

So the rest of Hogmanay was fantastic. And I spent the rest of the first day of the year unconscious, how it's meant to be spent. Still, took too long to get back to sorts even with potions. It was supposed to be a JOKE when I said I was old! Hell. Maybe that just means I'll get extra sleep this year. I think I could live with that.

Fuck if I'm not feeling festive. Well filled with cheer. This is the first time this whole bloody month but here we are, the 22nd and I've got more spirit than a tonne of tinsel or maybe it's the buttered rum. Honestly. Not enough to dress up and go carolling or dressing up like Father Christmas but cheery enough to watch someone else do it. That counts, doesn't it? Festive enough for nog and maybe some mince pie. If I had either. Or cherry pie. I haven't had that for awhile and I do like cherry pie. Okay, that sounds filthy but I just like pie. Take it any way you want.

You know how every once in awhile you have those days where you wake up and go about your day, or wake up, fall back asleep and then wake up again, if we're going to be technical and then go about your day. Get dressed, weigh the pro and cons of crisps for breakfast, maybe even do some work, right? And then you get halfway through the routine and it HITS you like a fucking mad hippogryff that it's actually your birthday. And you forgot. Because you're fucking old now. I hate when that happens.

What bollocks. Why does an ID card need my blood status. That's not identifying me. It's not like they're asking my race. That's a lot more fucking helpful in identifying me than my bloodline. Birth place too, what sort of card needs that information? I should well be able to keep it confidential if I want.

For the past year, since she moved in, I've had a minor feud going on with my neighbour Hilda Paternoster. She's about a hundred and thirteen and has almost that many kneazles, I'm not taking the piss. Okay, maybe it's only four. And it's not really a feud as much since I don't think she's aware of it. Mostly I just get fucking tired of hearing her yell at me over how loud my wireless is or that my cigarette smoke upsets Princess Anne. Not to mention that Bacon Fiasco a few weeks ago. It's hard not to develop an opinion in a situation like that!

But I'm a kind person. Big hearted. Warm and fuzzy. Shite like that. Also, when a harmless biddy like that asks for help getting Prince Albert off the roof. He'd scrambled up and out of her window and refused to get down. I climbed up and coaxed the little bastard down, I wasn't about to summon a ball of disgruntled claws. You can never trust royalty to behave themselves.

But I got invited over for his highnesses birthday party, complete with bacon butties and tipsy cake. I've made my peace. Fuck, for free sandwiches and cake I can make my peace with a lot. She's not actually that batty when you get to know her anyway. I just think she might take a bit too much brandy in her tea. Maybe that's why the tipsy cake was so fucking good...

So I used to know this guy, a good friend actually. Went by the name Gideon. Proper decent bloke. Usually. When he wasn't being a prat. Have you seen him? I'm going to start putting up posters around the Alley. 'Lost: One Prewett' Can't offer a reward though. I just have to rely on charitable good will.

Caerphilly! Fuck, c'mon, guys! We all have our bad days but...30 points? I just....I don't even have words.

Today reminded today why I don't get up early. Besides the fact that nothing interesting happens before noon anyway, I mean. I was up at nine and all I wanted was bacon. That's not a lot to ask for!

Yes, I wanted some yesterday and had none. Yes, I even considered going for groceries and made the decision not to. AM I to blame for this hardship? NO. Because I would have been fine with cereal til I went outside and that damn old bat next door was frying up BACON. With her windows WIDE OPEN.

What the hell is that? That's just cruel.

This cereal is just a reminder that I am baconless. A soggy reminder.