I always quite liked Woodstock's hair.

And Woodstock.

We were nearly all council estate kids .Real Snoopy waited until I kidnapped him from Knotts Berry Farm.

The cool kids at my school all had those little plastic containers of Nutella in their packed lunches. And Snoopy packed lunch boxes.

You were nobody unless you had Snoopy and Nutella.

Being a council estate kid I had some tin box I think my great grandad had brought back from WW1 and jam sandwiches.

This was a barrier to being regarded cool.

SGO - your tales of camping are taking me back to my youth. Back garden and all.
No nutella though. Not available in UK at that point (at least not in South Manchester).

Happy 2017 to you too, Sky.

I have my WCA this year. Who knows when. I suspect September but I have been known to be wrong.

We shall see.

See you soon Hindle.

I hope anyway. He seems a nice guy.

I didn't have a crap on the roundabout clarification.

and Happy New Year.

Reminds me,I have a two man tent.Not bought to enjoy the wilderness or camping experience as such,more to avoid hotel bills on my running around and (usually) ending up where I started.I am not sure,beyond where there are signs not to,where you are not supposed to camp.Probably not on a roundabout,but it I saw no warning not to.I haven't used it for a while,but your comments have led to me at least seeing if it hasn't disintegrated.

Sorry to be a bit slow with the old annual wishing of good fortune for the coming year.

In the sales I bought myself a big rucksack. A lightweight two man tent. And a sleeping bag. And a military roll mat. And a wind up radio and lamp. And I fucked off for a couple of days on my own and camped out away from the rest of you horrible humans. This is quite tricky in England because England is stupid and wild camping is illegal so I camped in a small copse of trees and behind a wall. Both near pubs where I ate food and drank beer before wandering back to my cosy canvas haven.

And to tell you you the truth it was brilliant. Well besides the weird noises in the middle of the night and waking up and having to get out of a nice snuggly sleeping bag into a freezing Yorkshire wind to go for a crap. Bitter wind on the arse cheeks is quite bracing and then you have to dig into the frozen ground with a trowel to hide it like a cat.

I'll take my camera next time, take a picture of me burying my own poo.

To be honest I forgot to pack the damn thing. Along with the seperate bit of groundsheet that goes in the porch of the tent so I couldn't keep my pack or boots properly dry. I'll remember that next time.

Anyway Happy New Year you fuckers.

It better be better than the last one or we're all doomed.