I'm not one to gossip, but...
For the love of god save me. All I can hear is the soapbox rants of my cleaner drifting from the bathroom. It's the same topics each week, illegal immigrants, benefit cheats, Tracey that works down Asda who had her tummy stapled on the NHS, but just keeps getting fatter because she eats 5 chocolate bars on a night shift from the vending machine, and what paid for that operation? OUR TAXES!
If I'm honest, this weekly barrage makes me giggle, not the content of the lectures, but the sweaty state she gets herself into over these matters, her voice becoming ever more higher pitched and her eyes turning mysteriously bloodshot as if her little head is going to pop off her shoulders. I could slip some Valium into her coffee each visit, but then where else would I get my Tuesday morning entertainment?
Edited to add: She just broke my ashtray. My rare PoundLand ashtray!
