Daily Mail columnist Jan Moir is accused of ‘dancing on Steven Gately’s grave for money’. Let's hope they bury him at sea.

Evening.  Am watching Match of the Day right now.  I do not know the Arsenal score though.David and Tony have been down from the grim north for my daughters birthday.  Today is the last day that she is three!  After reading her a chapter from Prince Caspian went down, ate with our guests and then watched bits of Strictly come Dancing.  After my wife went to bed, Tony watched the X-factor which we have not really watched at all this series.  After watching John and Edward, I felt that I really should not have bothered.  They were really really bad, but I did get to see Stacey Solomon.  When she speaks, I feel the urge to shoot her.  When she sings though...

Anyway, today, spent time with the kids this morning, while my wife was preparing for things for tomorrow.  In the afternoon took my daughter to get her bear for her birthday tomorrow.  We had wanted to go in earlier, but unfortunately, my wife is coming down ill so it had to be in the afternoon.  But she loved it, actually, both my daughter and my wife loved it.  She chose a unicorn rather than a proper bear, got it stuffed, and then helped get its birth certificate ready.  My son liked the day as well, as I made him walk the first part of the day from the car park to the shop.  He did try to escape from time to time, but then he is not even two and loves traffic!

And the title of the blog above refers to an article written in the Mail about the death of the Boyzone singer.

Anyway, I have to get some sleep and watch the matches.  Hope you like the joke... 

“Dear wife, you must realize that you are 54 years old and I have certain needs which you are no longer able to satisfy. I am otherwise happy with you as a wife, and I sincerely hope you will not be hurt or offended to learn that by the time you receive this letter, I will be at the Grand Hotel with my 19-year-old teaching assistant. I’ll be home before midnight. - Your Husband”

 

When he arrived at the hotel, there was a faxed letter waiting for him that read as follows:

 

“Dear Husband. You too are 54 years old, and by the time you receive this, I will be at the Breakwater Hotel with the 19-year-old pool boy. Being the brilliant mathematician that you are, you can easily appreciate the fact that 18 goes into 54 a lot more times than 54 goes into 18. Don’t wait up.”