Honestly, all to be found tonight for viewing is WWE. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking what the heck is she doing, lost her mind and forgotten how to use the TV remote. Well, no – debatable of course – there’s simply nothing else on. Other than repeats of repeats of repeats of Midsomer Murders, NCIS, Downton Abbey and so much more. Give me some tips for good viewing, please.
Now I like WWE, well used to. These days mind, all they do is chat and or throw insults at each other from afar. A bit like watching grown-up children in a playground, antagonising each other with stoopid comments that result in a bit of very staged argy-bargy. The difference being that unlike school kids in comfy uniforms, the wrestlers are prancing around in colourful lycra, ripped trousers, barely there tops or no top at all, and of course none of this takes place until after a regular visit to the tanning studio. I wonder if the WWE wrestlers are contracted to take out obligatory tanning contracts? Probs do.
I had a tanning session once, came away smelling like a freshly peeled potato. Not pleasant as you can imagine.
OK, that’s it, I can’t take it anymore, let me rather watch all the Brexit news. Now where is that blooming remote?
This blog is here for me to write for 15 minutes and then stop. No great theme, no great planning, only tap away on the keyboard. Thank you for popping by