Jesus, what a night!
A certain Miss T Swift caught snogging a paparazzi behind the greenhouse.
Mr E John making off with 5l of engine lubricant and a child’s paddling pool.
Busted getting, er, busted by the rozzers for doing things with Rizlas.
Mr T Jones (no relation because that’s not his real name anyway) getting upset about the green green grass of home turning brown in the heat.
I could list all of the events of the night, but then I’d be here until next year…
And I have alternate plans.
Not least being catching up with my sleep after the very late/early morning finish to the festivities.
I hope the noise didn’t disturb the neighbours too much.
And I hope the sound of furious blogging didn’t disturb the neighbours too.
Let’s face it, the neighbours are disturbed enough already so…
I’d like to thank everyone for not complaining about the last 30 days’ of activity, and the noise, and the dust, and the smell.
Sorry about the smell in particular.
And I’d like to thank you for sticking with it.
The theme seemed fair at the start of the month, but by about day 15, when we were stuck in the high Andes, drawing lots on who we should eat next, the joke began to wear thinner than Donald Trump’s hairstyle.
But I’m glad we ate him first anyway.
Let’s do it all again next year!
But with fewer penguins eh? Sorry Elt.