Down to the country for an early weekend. I've got to get the new cottage ready. By this, I mean throw everything on to a huge bonfire and set light to it as whoever furnished it was SO Noughties.
I got my new friend Mulligan to help out. He does all the jobs round the estate and is a one-off. You just don't get people like him in the States – not out of jail anyways. Mulligan has no formal education and claims to have left school at 12 earning his living poaching and bare-knuckle boxing for cash. He has an opinion on everything and I just wind him up and let him go. His worldview is hilarious – David Cameron? Toffee-nosed arse who needs a good slap. Nick Clegg? Useless, a gay ferret could do a better job. Ed Miliband? Computer nerd who needs a good kicking. Lady Gaga? He simulates cocking a shotgun.
I love Mulligan and want to be able to miniaturise him and carry him around in my pocket to cheer me up. When we'd finished clearing out the cottage we went down to the pub to celebrate. The landlord had a "lock-in" which means that they kick everyone out and then a select few stay and drink the place dry.
We ended up breaking all the glass in the local church windows at about three in the morning because Mulligan said the vicar was "dodgy". God, it's good to be back among real people.