Lockdown larks…

I’ve learned how to fire an imaginary pump action shotgun. Oh yes, I so very have. It’s a real whopper of a thing and has kept me more amused than is strictly appropriate…

Of course, I’ll be in need of its services before too long – the dreaded motorhomes and caravans will be limping their way to These Parrrrrts – clogging up the roads as they chug along at snail pace and manned by smug middle-aged, tea towel botherers as they squint between unfolded maps and hopefully into the distance.

Now, as you know, I’m a loyal fan of caravans of the static variety – they’re no trouble to anyone – but these fuckers just don’t let you get on.

There’s safety in numbers with this mob. In they all mooch. Blocking up the roads and lanes with their fat arse chariots. And scuppering my chances of a quick nip to Tezzas for a light-fingered shoplifting session. Bastards.

Now then, I like to think I’m a tolerant kind of gal – and I don’t begrudge anyone escaping to These Parrrrrts for a much-needed paddle and piss in our sea…but once it dawned on me that the lockdown easing would equate to an Invasion of the Scrote Brigade even worse than last year – it took the shine off my vision of running through the These Parrrrrts countryside, arms outstretched and skirt-twirling, without having wasted half a day behind Scrotemobiles in an attempt to get there.

So I got me a shotgun.

And I’ve mastered the sound effects for loading and firing to an absolute tee.

In fact, I’d go as far as to suggest, if you happened to be within earshot, you’d be diving for cover behind a handily-placed sandbag through fear of copping one of my slugs up your jacksie.

Naturally, I’ve been practising for the Scrote Invasion and literally riding shotgun in the car over the past weeks. And I can faithfully report that I’ve picked off any number of people who look like they own a flask, carefully laundered slacks, a multi-pack of Trebor Mints and harbour intentions of ‘taking to the open road’ in a Scrotemobile once restrictions allow.

Here I am, showing a moment of relative restraint. Watch out…

Next week (a blatant lie…): Volvos with the dreaded straw hat/box of tissues combo in the back window.

Settle down…