Winter is surely here, ladies and gentlemans

I wish I had more things to talk about when I get round to blogging. It must get jolly well repetitive for you lot, constantly reading blog posts where I natter on and on about not having anything to say. I promise to put a bit more effort into these blogs in the distant future. Possibly.

But for now, you're just going to have to settle for the fact that I have provided you with another blog post, and surely that's enough. Surely that should assuage your raging impatience.

I am so very tired at the moment. I've been at home for about an hour (I get home at half four - yes, that is stupidly late time to get home at) and I am absolutely cream-crackered, not half, cor blimey guv'nor. Positively pooped. To use the word exhausted would be a job half done. I am absolutely, irrefutably, one hundred percent dead on my legs.
...And yet, I can blog. I must have gotten a calculation wrong somewhere along the lines, because I'm clearly not as tired as I'm making out. Oh, what a moaning Michael I am. Ignore me. Ignore me and my moaning whingeables.

My cats have gotten colds. Yes, you heard me. They're sniffling and sneezing and wheezing and burning up, and it's quite sad to see them suffering. Two are on the mend, but the third, who caught it a bit later than the rest, is still tucked up in a blanket, by the fire. Bless her little cotton socks.
I'll keep you lot updated on their progress. Well, I've little else to do. Apart from sleep.
Actually, that sounds like a nice idea. Sod this, I'm off for a kip.

Cheerio.