That bloody river again

When I  told you about being on a raft on the river the other day, you all thought I was joking. I have to take to the water every bloody time I want to get to the town! (Bloody is not a bloody swear word.) And it’s bloody freezing and bloody wet! But you have a lovely yellow chariot, I hear you say. He’s on strike. Something to do with pot holes. “If it was your suspension, you would object,” he says. He’s asking other cars, of any colour, to toot in support. Pathetic. I was thrown out of the Post Office today for dripping on their floor. “If every customer dripped on our floor, we’d all soon be swimming,” the woman said. And what was wrong with Scott McTominay’s fabulous goal against Spain? Bloody nothing.