A lot of us are extremely cheesed off here in Glawstershire at the moment.
More cheesed off than a piece of single Gloucester left out after a boozy dinner party and found soft and sweaty in the morning.
More cheesed off than some Stinking Bishop that fell unnoticed out of the shopping bag into footwell of the car and sat there humming to itself unrescued while people went on holiday for a week.
Even more cheesed off than Eddie Izzard’s feet after doing 43 marathons. Continue reading “Cheesed Off.”
Boadicea's Chariot 