One hour in hell

I don't feel I should apologise to M People about this. And if that doesn't make sense, see yesterday's in-fill.

Aye, so, it must've been a bad pint and if I was to hazard a guess, I'd finger the barmaid at the Brechin Arms. No, wait, that didn't come out right. I'd blame the pint of Ossian at the Brechin Arms. Just because I doubt they sell much of it. Or maybe it was just the total volume of beer. Probably.

Luckily, with Mandy's mum doing the childminding, we got a lie in until 10am (woo hoo!) which helped, and then tea, bacon sandwiches and more tea. And a fair bit of sitting doing nothing.

Everybody goes on about Ikea but I think there's absolutely no question that Toys R Us is miles worse. OK, not everyone goes to Toys R Us but really, trust me, it's a place of the damned. The sort place Hieronymus Bosch would have created if he'd been a bit more imaginative. I hated the place with first sight of its backward R (which I wouldn't have reproduced even if my keyboard would let me) although I do give them credit for not calling it Toyz R Uz, which I'm pretty sure the guys in marketing thought about.

But Ewan and Ellen had some pocket money, Ewan's been scrounging pennies relentlessly and nearly peeing himself with excitement at going to the place on the way back from Brechin. But everything in it is total shit. Over-priced utter crap (apart from the nice wee Hello Kitty tea set that Ellen got). I tried not to cheer when Ewan didn't buy anything. I was quite impressed actually because it was a huge internal struggle for him not to just buy something for the sake of it, having been so keen to get there. Now i need to take him to the model shop tomorrow for a proper toy.

It did provide one bit of amusement. Picture the scene - you step out of the front door spot a lime gear Ford Fiesta RS Turbo that has been pimped to the max parked in a disabled spot. I know why because there's more space around the bays, less chance of getting dinged by a another car's door. I turned to Mandy and loudly announced "I bet they don't have a disability" just as a woman (picture WAG wannabe: highlights, perm-tan but a couple of stone heavier than the usual anorexic. Maybe the WAG of a St Johnstone player) and a fat kid walk past and bip the car doors. And as they reach it, I said a little more loudly, "but they do have a flat". Oh how we sniggered.