Once again, large bags of emails have been piling into central office, cluttering the desk space, inquiring about the fate of everyone’s favourite degenerate, Uncle Len.
I live, barely. The hot weather in the shed has produced an attack of the mutants, with cockroaches as big as cats, and rats as big as small dogs. The combined forces of Mordor have waged war against my meagre possessions. But I have fought back, bravely, with chemical weapons purchased from Billy Bunter, the local hardware store. I almost poisoned myself in the process, but I killed all of the blitters. Until tomorrow. I trust
