Kill me now, if you'd be so kind.

I'm so chuffed that God read my last blog. He rolled up his sleeves, looked me square in the eye and said 'Right then.'

And so, initially, it was filling the car with crap for the skip, driving around unable to find the skip, and unloading the car, back at home, of the crap intended for the skip. Throw in a couple of traffic light stalls and this:

"Ginger Beard, something's not right."
"Huh?"
"Something feels weird."
"Does it?"
"Oh my God, you're driving on the wrong side of the road!!!'

And you've got yourself a nice Saturday afternoon.

Cue torrential, Noah's Ark downpour Sunday, and we decide to be a bit cultural and head for the new Hepworth Gallery in Wakefield. Now, I did promise myself that I would never go back. That I would never again expose myself to the tracksuit bottoms tucked in sock goers of The Ridings, or every shop fronted by bargain baskets. Luckily, we got lost, and after reuniting myself with all of Wakefield arrived a good hour longer than anticipated. LUCKILY, the exhibit was things with holes in. Which I happen to love. Some of the holes had string in, and were painted. And, being middle class, which a penchant for upper class sensibilities I was able to realise that strip of iron stapled to the ceiling represented the ongoing battle of the human condition, and that putting balls on top of other balls commented on our relentless pursuit of hope. I knew it wasn't a good start when I touched (barely) what I assumed to be a nicely decorated bench and a stick-up-her-arse attendant told me off.

"Hi, how are you, yeah so, you can't touch the art."
And because I am incredibly mature, I gestured wildly to the rampage of sticky fingered children and proclaimed, "Everyone is touching the art." Then I looked at her in such a fashion, as to suggest that I intended to be violently sick on her face.

I decided to sit in each room, by myself, guarding our umbrellas, whilst Ginger Beard looked around, and through the objects with holes. I was at one point engulfed by a tour guide and her group, which was very upsetting, and meant I had to listen to the claim that this wooden ball was about the relationship of the water and the land. I've never been so furious in my life. What. A. Horrific. Lot. Of. Bollucks. Is this legal? Putting pins in my eyes would've hurt less.

LUCKILY, we then got lost tracking down somewhere to eat. And then LUCKILY, got some mild food poisoning, to finish off what I can only describe as the kind of weekend that instigates a loaded gun to the temple.