So here we are sat at Dublin airport.

Two hours before we're due to take off. We've got an over-priced under-flavoured coffee to keep us company and we're in the arse end of the airport which is currently a load of glued together portakabins while they continue to rebuild the all new bright and glowey airport!

I thank the Gods of flight that we've got priority check-in but it'll be sods law that so has every other fucker!

I'm tired. I'm cranky. Coffee isn't working. There is no smoking area, which is hugely unfair, and all I want to do is sleep!

Rampage will be sorry he agreed to meet us at the airport when he views the state I'm in... which will just get worse as we endure the two hours with the staff (I use that word lightly) of Ryanair!

Give me back my private jet you bastard! Damn the establishment and damn the tax man for taking all my money... and my private jet!

Ta ta for now everyone! See you in Berlin... as my grandfather said as they pushed him out of his B-19 troop carrier in 1941.