I was having a quiet morning here, when the bloody Meeja turned up again.
I am sick of television stations and radio stations arriving on the doorstep looking for interviews, so I told them to fuck off.
But then I noticed the interviewer.
As TAT would say – “Grrrrrrr!”
I invited them in.
Of course they ran amok running cables all over the gaff and blowing fuses, but while the crew were installing the equipment, it gave me a chance to “interview” the interviewer. She was gorgeous.
Our K8 picked a very inopportune moment to call around just then, so I told my new friend to interview her instead. She hadn’t much choice, so she agreed.
It was a live interview, so I went out into the garden while they were doing their stuff.
One of the neighbour’s cats was perched on the window sill, so I shot him with my air pistol [I don’t like killing animals], and the howl could literally be heard throughout the eastern half of Ireland.
When the interview was over, I went back in. They weren’t very pleased with me and my feline exploits but I didn’t invite them here.
I haven’t a clue what they interviewed K8 about. I don’t really care.
I have the interviewer’s email address,
and phone number.