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jamiebear.uk
Jamie, just your average Merseyside-based foulmouthed slutty gay Welsh vegetarian historian and amateur chef. he/him. Academic cum adventurer. Progressive revolutionary socialist liberal. Cute-cute in a stupid-ass way.
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I saw that Triga porn.

Someone told me once that Farage is in daily pain still from that plane crash he had while illegally campaigning on election day a decade ago, and that’s always a nice thing to remember.

Physiotherapy consult went well enough – discharged with a glowing report on what I've achieved... but they admit that this is as mobile as I'm ever going to get and the walking stick is definitely a permanent part of my life forever. Bum.

Rail open data is really detailed these days. Realtime Trains not only knows that the train was cancelled due to an ill passenger, but also knows what they were ill with.

Today's only goal is to schlepp all the way to Clatterbridge Hospital by public transport for an appointment with the physiotherapy consultant, then schlepp all the way back.

Me, typing: “anyway” Autocorrect: “away” Me: “delete, delete, anyway” Autocorrect: “away” Me: “delete, delete, anyway” Autocorrect: “away” Me: “delete, delete, anyway” Autocorrect: “away” Me: “delete, delete, anyway” Autocorrect: … Me: send Autocorrect: “away”

With my darling late Tillydog I used to play a game of holding up the duvet over my face and saying “Where’s Tilly?”. She’d run around the bed pretending to look for me, then be delighted when I lowered the duvet to reveal myself. Hours of fun.

There was a health food movement that included juicing, with carrots being especially popular, in the 1910s. During the same time thousands of Americans were dying from measles every year.

My Italian used to be quite good, but 5 years of disuse has dissolved it all, leaving me with just a useless knowledge of the structure and most but not all of the "1,000 Italian Verbs" textbook my best friend Pat hammered into me.

The waiter at the nice Italian kept refilling our wine glasses despite us saying it was fine and he didn’t need to. Chris: “Are you doing this to sell us more wine?” Waiter: “Yes.” Chris: *shakes waiter’s hand* “Another bottle then please.” My husband knows when he has lost a battle.

youtu.be/MPxtqx55PA0?... Looks so good.

Only When I Fuck.

New Dog has a very thick, powerful tail that wags like crazy all the time because she's generally always very happy. Spud has taken to standing right behind her, and thus is frequently getting his head hammered with it. Rather than move, he stands there with a resigned look on his face.

I'm presuming this Mail Online piece was written with AI, or bad AI transcription. But bravo.

My husband is taking me to the nice Italian for dinner tonight to celebrate the Rediffusion book (of which the last 40 copies are in my front room, labelled up and ready to go to the Post Office in two batches tomorrow, meaning every UK order should've been delivered by Thursday).

Done my duty by Spud and had a ball game with him at the tennis courts. Now back and drinking tea with a sore lower back.

I think I just came at the excitement of this.

FINALLY! Christ, I could have kicked Starmer in the tits when he said f-all yesterday. I still think he needs to stand up to that orange arsehole, but he’s come good here.