Brexit is becoming befuddlingly boring

Yes, I have to admit that I’ve had it up to here with Brexit.

It’s not good for my health listening to all this stuff about access to single markets, closed borders, bespoke trade deals, transition periods and what the 27 think. Hard or soft? I’ll take scrambled please and get the hell out. Isn’t this quagmire and jungle of political disarray a sure reason to be well shot of Europe and all its costly shenanigans?

The process of suing our St Andrews architect gathers pace as we decided to measure some of the dimensions of the flat ourselves. And the 3.6 metres length in his drawings for the lounge is incorrect. It’s 4.3 metres. Not a great measurement in anyone’s book. In fact materially wrong. Yes, it’s the old chestnut that if you don’t get the survey drawings correct then your plans ain’t going to look that clever. But never mind old boy we’ll pick up the tab to sort out the aborted building works and live in an ad hoc design.

Bitter? me?

No, I have a new lease of life as I managed to get an interview for the Scottish Tourist Guide Course. The kilted caddie may soon be conducting awesome tailor-made tours. Please sign up now as I expect a deluge of interest once I am qualified. Assuming I get through the interview?

My Trump golf article is out with HK Golf so I hope all my numerous and avid blog readers order their copies asap. Ok, I realize that I may have shot myself in the foot with respect to being Donald’s potential caddie when he comes to play the Old? But that is a long shot at the moment anyway. Besides, I’m still banished up at The Castle for my unappreciated scribbling about the R&A. Locks and chains and all.

Bitter? me?

My tips for the week are for Scotland to win the Grand Slam, Theresa May to voluntarily stand down, a Dow Jones crash, Norwich to whitewash Tottenham in the FA Cup, Blacklion to win the Cheltenham Gold Cup, on the proviso that he runs (if he doesn’t run he can’t win), Li Haotong to win The Open with a new Scottish caddie, and of course as always, don’t eat yellow snow.

Witter? Me?

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