Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens ...

The peace and calm of the last fortnight came to an abrubt end this morning as BoyIdiot came bouncing noisly back from 'somewhere'

We'd been taking bets as to where he might've disappered to - suggestions of Neverland were quickly pooh-pooed as even though he can easily pass muster on the telephone with his high pitched, adenoidal whine of a voice, not even the best plastic surgeon would be able to disquise the fact that he's a middleaged porky bloke ...

From the dearth of details he doled out with unaccustomed parsimony, i reckon he probably went away, caught a dose of la tourista on the first day, and spent the rest of the time holed up in his hotel room watching subtitled porn films ... probably