Yesterday was International Women's Day, an important yearly event for the female cause worldwide. So it's nice to see that The Sun (not that I read it - I only flick through it for research purposes) have taken up the feminist baton and run with it, by launching a competition in today's paper entitled 'Win a Bronze Bust of Your Bird's Breasts'.
They pose the rhetorical question "does your wife or girlfriend want to have her boobs immortalised by artist Leigh Heppell?", the answer to which is obviously "yes", in which case you have to "send a snap of her assets" to the Sun offices immediately.
Lisa finishes work at 2pm today, and I've got my camera with me, so we should be able to catch the last post.
As of last night we're now officially packed for our Texan adventure which begins on Friday. With great dedication we headed into town at 4pm yesterday afternoon in order to buy last minute essentials for our trip. By 5pm Lisa had spent a good half hour in the Marks & Spencer's changing rooms, and I'd discovered you can buy duck sandwiches in the food hall. So it was going well. Fortunately we were strict with ourselves, and eventually walked out of the shop at 5:15pm, Lisa clutching a skirt and a top, and me carrying two syrup puddings with custard. So like I say, we only went for the essentials.
Lisa was equally strict with her packing schedule, insisting on watching Eastenders and half of Fame Academy before getting as far as opening her suitcase. I spurred her on by betting her a pound that Dawn would be voted out of the Academy, a bet she happily took, and another pound effortlessly won. Though she did try to argue that she shouldn't have to pay out as it was International Women's Day.
So that's the effect of the worldwide feminist movement - men casting their girlfriends' breasts in bronze, and women welching on dodgy bets. Germaine Greer would be appalled. That's if she wasn't busy filming the new series of 'I'm a Strictly Come Dancing Celebrity Big Brother, Get Me Out of Hell's Kitchen'.