Summertime and the living is easy....

.......unless of course like me and thousands of others you suffer with Hay fever.

That's right, summer is finally here and it doesn't look like it's going to be the typical British affair of two weeks of blazing sun, pasty white legs in ill fitting shorts and teenage mothers rushing to spend the family allowance on white lightning for a picnic in the park with little Mercedes, Porsche or for the really classy Latrine.

It's now just gone ten in the morning and already one of my eyes is more bloodshot than a Lebanese prostitute's who has offered a questionable 'extra' to a client. I would post a picture but if the Lebanese prostitute joke hasn't put you off your coffee, breakfast or anything else you choose to have while surfing the Internet, that picture would.

It's the morning after a rather quiet but all the same alcohol fueled Friday night in the local pub (which ironically enough isn't local at nearly 20 miles away), and as per usual I feel absolutely fine. The other half is doing his whole Saturday morning lie in thing, which is fine by me, hell it's a bloody good idea when you look at the state of Saturday morning TV these days. Gone are our faithful friends that were once the staple of a Saturday morning. You know the ones I'm talking about. Live and Kicking, SM:TV, Grandstand and the rest, to be replaced by 82 different cookery programs one of which is hosted by the fat ginger bloke we all hate, or as he probably prefers to be called Anthony Worral Thompson or AWT. Of course it would be more appropriate just to call him TWAT.

Don't get me wrong, I like cookery programmes, I have an exceptionally healthy relationship with food but, do I really honestly need to watch at ten in the morning somebody gutting a trout (and I do mean the fish, not Anne Widdecombe, that after all I would pay to see) and showing me how to cook it and serve it with something shit like a Juniper berry and cream dipping sauce? The answer is no I don’t. Want I want on a Saturday morning is brain dead TV. Especially when only twelve hours ago I was pickling the grey matter in a heady concoction of Cider, Beer and drain cleaner aka the pub standard house double Vodka.

Alas though, Saturday morning is now dead and there isn’t much left to do. Oh well I think time for a bacon and egg sandwich a cup of coffee and watching one of those shocking cookery programmes. If nothing else it’s better than the crapness that is big brother.