After an unfortunate (and wholly uncharacteristic) lending/borrowing/not-getting-stuff-back/leaving-the-country issue, I found that all my Smiths CDs were belong to a geezer called Ronan on the western side of the Irish Sea. This was more than a year ago.
Rejoice then, and share the miserable joy of watching northern rain slide down a windowpaned fingerprint – yes, the Smiths have returned to planet Deathchimp, and they're most welcome.
In other news, Rebecca and I have been trying to civilise Chad from PC Plus. He's a foreigner, you see, but we can help him by making him listen to Echo And The Bunnymen, David Bowie and other works of English genius. Here he is on the left, with me looking gorgeous and the mysterious 'El Mysterioso' looking mysterious:
Chad kept doing this funny little voodoo dance. Here he is, getting his evil strength back eating a biscuit.
One day a real rain's gonna come and wash the streets of Somerset clean...