Diary of a Dosser.

Today I woke up the Angela Rippon having a good old rummage through a lady's downstairs furniture. They were trying to get a bit of cash together so that they could leave behind their home counties, mother hen lifestyle behind for a bit and go on safari in East Africa. I still think its selfish to sell family heirlooms to take a holiday. Cash in the Attic ruins lives.

I ate a pizza for lunch, thats Italian. It was nice. I paid for it with cash from my attic.

There were two groups of tramps on the island earlier, rather than the usual one. One lot was sat on the bench nearest me, the others were sat opposite. I wondered whether it was just necessity that had separated them, or if they were two rival tribes, locked in some sort of grueling drinking battle. Which ones could down the most Frosty Jacks in the course of the day? A scrawny little dog kept going back and forth between them, like some sort of carrier pigeon.

I thought, christ, it must be so soul destroying just sitting there all day watching the world go by. Then I realised I was doing exactly the same only a few hundred feet higher. I might pop down and join in.