Old Knudsen gets e-mails by the dozen asking him, 'What do you do with yerself when yer not writing yer award winning blog?'
Not ignoring the little people who read this shite thats fer sure. Old Knudsen shall answer yer question.
Last week for example Old Knudsen was having a nice cup of tae looking out the kitchen window and thought, 'yon pond looks a little bare I think I'll plant some water hyacinth' of course that means a trip to the garden centre.
So many lovely plants you always end up buying more than you intended, "heh heh I only came in for water hyacinth" chuckles I to the cashier as she totals up £89.34p and gives Old Knudsen a hand loading up his car.
The double flowers look so pretty but they produce far less nectar than the single flowered varieties and ya have to look after the butterflies.
Planting tomatoes on a south facing wall is such great fun when shared with some young friends. Constantly moving home means yer neighbours never need to know yer past and while yer breaking yer parole conditions don't forget to protect those newly planted runner beans from slugs and snails like Old Knudsen did last Monday.
There is also the ritual of going to the local grocery store and have the cashier look you up and down and ask with disgust, "will you be needing bags?" before begrudgingly giving you three and then tutting when you ask for more.
You aren't fucking paying for them maybe I recycle me plastic bags or don't want to look totally gheylord carrying a big reusable bag with lady birds on it.
Upon occasion Old Knudsen likes to have a few close friends round for a little soiree. Home cooking, some light jazz in the background and a ton of cheap wine doon our necks. We ask searching questions like, 'When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?' Afterwards we get oiled up and have a naked game of twister.
Then we all pile out onto the streets after midnight looking for someone who'll do matching tattoos on 8 naked oily drunk people.
The perfect start to a new day is a spot of fox hunting. Foxes kill over 36,000 people a year in the UK so don't go feeling sorry for them, traveling doon the road at speed colliding into each other and plowing into innocent folks just trying to cross the road ........ or is that cars? Well foxes would give ya a nasty bite if ya grabbed one.
Old Knudsen does not use horses to catch foxes he runs like the wind, sometimes he trains the odd doggie for the local gentry. Hounds aren't born knowing how to track foxes and tear them apart with their teeth, they have to be taught by example.
Old Knudsen doesn't sit around living off benefits ya know, he teaches the young calculations and everyday wisdom and then settles doon to write another chapter or so of his latest book.
No weekend binge drinking and hooring, oh no he gets to bed early with a hot coco.
Due to the nightmares about drowning and Old Knudsen's constant incontinence he only sleeps for 3 hours at a time.
Then its off to the streets to pick up dirty hoors and punish them for being sinners, ah but where to put the bodies?
Isn't time you cut back spring flowering bulbs and filled up yer borders with bedding plants? Get those azaleas and rhododendrons dead headed, shredding and burning all forms of ID too.
Old Knudsen is just as boring and everyday as you so don't think yer special. He puts on his tights one leg at a time.
You are more than welcum to enter Old Knudsen's humdrum existence
Me Krav Maga sparring partners all died unexpectedly , all levels of fitness accepted, remember pain is all in yer head ... and where ever else Old Knudsen hits you..... Ka - Chow!
