Granny’s Thirty-Sixth Pearl

Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…


What is the effing point of effing fireworks?

At any time. 

But on Bonfire Night? You stand in someone’s muddy effing garden and a drunk man in shorts  sets fire to some stuff. In November. In the cold. Drinking iced strong lager. And then somebody offers you a jacket potato that’s raw in the middle, ditto a sausage…

The sheer waste of money and effort beggars belief – not to mention  frightened pets all across the country.

So. If you must set fire to your money please at least confine your efforts to one day.

Or granny will shove a riprap up your arse

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