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Monday

When does this pigeon leave his house? He never even bloody put on pants. I've been pretending to point these bricks for days. I hope no one noticed I haven't moved from this spot.

Tuesday

He sleeps like the dead, though. Snores, too. And thank you for leaving that third floor window open, mate. Every time someone puts in a Turing system, God opens a window.

Finally up. It's two o'clock you lazy bastard! Some of us have been working since dawn!

Blimey! That's not his hair! It's a wig! Wish I had a camera, to show the lads. If I were rich, I could dance around the house in a ruffled shirt and no pants all day too.

Thursday

I wonder if them gold records are real metal. Easier to move if I can melt them down. Lionel hates stuff that's got names on it. But he's got those record collectors, innit. They might like it.

What's he doing now??? Bloody crying and snapping his records in half! Oh Boo Hoo. Is it too hard to be rich and Famous and shag all the birds? Pop a Joy, you bastard.

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