Workin’ 9 to 5…

Chance’d be a fine thing.

I fucking hate the bollocks protocols that have to be followed at work. I’ve just had to cancel a dance competition for over a thousand kids due to some pedantic ‘jobs-worth’ in the hierarchy claiming that I hadn’t followed procedure. I’m not allowed on site due to the school screaming health and safety over my illness, so how am I supposed to follow fucking procedure? Eh? EH?

Pricks.

Up at the Marsden, wired up to a machine that’s filling me with some toxic crap that’ll have me shaking like a shitting dog in around twelve hours time. On the plus side, Mark from STW has just offered to send me and the other Bullheartettes some jerseys to wear for the JOGLE.

So my technique is shit, but my shizzle will be schmoooove…

Forgive me. Its the drugs talking….

Need some new 29er forks, as for some reason I’ve managed to put a crease in the Peace’s rigids. Any ideas? Answers on a postcard…

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