The Cancer Chronicles – Page 5

#41 Enter the blood transfusion stage

Chernobyl Day and currently sitting at hospital waiting for my first wife to piss in a jar for her fortnightly urine sample.

I’d like to think she’s having a ripper time in there all by herself but know she’s struggling. Just found out she needs her first blood transfusion and she was a little big freaked out.

Her hemoglobin is way down but unfortunately not like Elvis’s song Way Down.

I regularly give blood and know there’s always a shortage so if y’all up to it, then worth considering giving up a little. Ain’t like it’s beer or wine, man so give heaps.

Ya may even be lucky enough get a hot as fuck nurse (or maybe a raggedy ol’ ugly one) but whether she (or he) is skantily clad wearing a low cut, tight fitting top and mini skirt or not, they’ve all been really nice when I’ve gone; even the huckery ol’ ones. Plus ya get snacks and shit for free.

The lucky bastard that gets mine should be extra happy ‘cos will no doubt go away pissed from the high blood alcohol content. Just hope they’re a happy drunk and not some sad violent cunt.

Much like wives, those nurse sheilas love sucking the life out of husbands but in this case it’s for a good cause and is appreciated. If you’d like to play your part in helping save someone’s life, either phone 131495 or follow this link https://www.donateblood.com.au/.

Caught taking selfie when wife sleeping, an awake selfie

Fuck I am a dumb cunt though as until now, I actually thought a blood transfusion was a drip thing vacuming out old huckery blood from one arm and another machine injecting some flash as new (second hand) blood into the other arm, but apparently not.

For all you other dumb cunts like me, she gets to keep all her own blood but also gets an intravenous top up of fresh shit. Kinda like having a Berocca or for you Croatians out there a strong glass of Cedevita… actually, more like fina domaca rakija.

In Sesame Street’s Count von Count ‘s accent, *‘I’ve come to suck your blood*‘

The word hemoglobin kinda sounds like a cool name for a ghost but it’s actually the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen to the rest of the body. It also transports carbon dioxide out of cells and back into lungs for exhaling. Anyway, the ol’ girl’s was about 80g/L and a good count is around 115 – 160g/L, I think so she was a little bit shy of the required number. Apparently it happens with chemo so probably lucky we made it this far before needing a shot.

In hindsight, this transfusion thing was needed as she’s had a few dizzy moments of late, including just last Monday night when she got all lightheaded like I reckon she did when she first saw me.

The reason we were out that night was to celebrate our youngest devil spawn, Dilan’s 17th birthday. It was pretty low key with just me, the cook and both kids heading out for a feed of ribs and shit. But it was an event worth celebrating and right now we’re celebrating everything we can.

The day before was Mother’s Day and we spent half that in Melbourne and the other half back home in Queensland with both devil spawn. More about Melbourne later.

Mothers Day mas at St Patrick’s Cathedral

Nine days before that we celebrated our oldest devil spawn, Kodi’s 22nd birthday, which I touched on in my last blog and that too was pretty low key with just the four of us at home.

One of my best mates Biggles shares the same birthday as Kodi so we also went to the Sunny Coast and celebrated there in a big way. Fuck I loved that party, man and much like being alive, I didn’t want it to finish. Biggles is a fucking good cunt, man.

Amongst other things, we said we’re gunna buy the kids a scuba diving course for their birthdays. Haven’t paid for it yet but that’s the plan anyway. For those that haven’t been scuba diving before, that’s some good time’s right there.

It does not matter where one shops, it always sucks

Dilan’s ankle is still rooted and needs to see a specialist so hoping a particular ligament is only partially torn and not completely snapped ‘cos that’ll suck, man.

Dilan passed his driving test yesterday and celebrated not only that but also the fact that he’s the first in our family of four to pass it first time. Fuck yeah. Saved me money on paying for a second test. Nah, well done boy.

Although my first wife and I have been to every continent bar Antarctica we haven’t seen much of Aussie yet and took a Covid chance by booking a trip to Melbourne with another wog couple, Drago and Blansa.

As it turned out there were no Covid cases to prevent our trip from eventuating and we had an awesome time. Absolutely love that city, man. Untold primo food that’s cheap as fuck like Wagyu steak for $39.99kg. My housewife came back with heaps of presents to give the kids for Mothers Day (oh, the irony) and I came back with a weight limit full suitcase full of raw meat.

Who cares if they can’t spell ‘weight’ when their meat is so cheap

Travelling with a first wife with bowel cancer and half her bowel cut out is different to travelling with a first wife prior to having that cunt of a disease. Small things like when booking accommodation make sure there’s an ensuite and don’t go into a plane toilet immediately after she’s been in there.

Whether one has cancer or not, having a little thing like a big fat poo every day is quite a nice thing. Not having one sucks and even more so when you got a fucked up bowel.

Finally, we keep getting asked how much longer Marjana needs chemo or how many more sessions there are. So, just to again clarify again, we’ve been told she needs chemo for the rest of her life. There’s no magic number or time frame so unless things change she’s on chemo until she dies. Hopefully that’s in about a million years so we really get our value for money from health insurance.

We still believe in miracles.

Exiting a bathroom

#40 Return of the spew bucket

Hard to believe we have reached 40 Cancer Chronicle blogs really.

I remember when I turned 40 I was so pissed off. Seriously man, I wasn’t very happy at all. When I turned 50 though, I was actually happy it. Not really sure what the difference was but in all reality, they’re just numbers anyway.

Whether it’s a number relating to how many times you’ve been around the sun or how many times you’ve clicked ‘publish’ on a blog it still really is just a number… it’s what happens between those numbers that matter.

And in this instance, those 40 posts hopefully have kept y’all updated on the happenings of someone we know and love together and in doing so given you a few laughs in between. It’s certainly done that for us.

Don’t get me wrong though in thinking it’s all fun and games in reliving the comedic reality show in print because as you groupie readers know all too well, there’s been plenty of fucked times too.

Fucked times aint dead times though so even they need to be celebrated. But enough of this philosophical shit and back to real stuff like my first wife’s massive green projectile vomit a couple nights ago. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, man.

Pudding the pissing cat looking after her Mama

It was almost like a back to the future thing with Marjana talking in a monotone robot like voice saying ‘Get me a bucket quick!’. Now I’m a dumb cunt alright but dumb cunt or not, I still got a memory and recalled the times of old when she says those words in that tone.

Like a treasure hunt expert in an olympic sprint I found a large enough spew vessel in the nick of time and the ol’ girl played her part in not making my giving it to her a waste of time.

She’d had her Chernobyl Day dose of chemo the day prior on Wednesday and woke up on Kodi’s birthday day feeling pretty good. By the time I returned from an ultrasound on our other son Dilan’s ankle she had stomach cramps and has since had had the chemo bottle removed on Friday and now three days later, she still got em.

Kinda sucks and unsure what they’re from. I reckon it’s a bug and she reckons its from looking at my ugly head so the jury’s is still out on that.

But she’s still getting nausea and shouldn’t be and with vertigo coming back as often as aphids on my plants the little cunts, we’re now booked in to see a Neurologist.

Even had an MRI on my first wife’s head for good measure and when we told Dilan, the conversation went something like this…

Me – Ya ol’ lady had an MRI scan on her brain today to check if there was a brain in there.

Dilan – Maybe they should do one on your head, Dad.

Me – You little cunt.

Marjana and Dilan laughed like fuck and I begrudgingly told Dilan he may have just made the quote of the day.

Anyway, the scan results showed she does have a brain and it’s alive and in her head. It’s the small things in life, right.

Small things like road trip days to places we never been before.

We been taking Bella to the dog beach a few times a week and the walk there and back can be six or seven kilometres so we might be unfit fat cunts but that ain’t too bad for, well… unfit fat cunts, I suppose.

We’ve also been making a concerted effort to do shit even when the cook ain’t feeling too flash.

We’ve visited some good mates at Sunny Coast and even got to catch up with one of the loudest proudest Aussies I know from way back. We ate food, drank piss and told old rugby war stories from our California days following another mate dying.

San Francisco Rugby Club memory lane

Cuzzie Jase the Ace took the cook on a Harley ride for the day and she dug it. Thanks to Lisa for sharing her man, his bike and her riding gears but fuck did she make me pay by drinking heaps and heaps of my plonk.

That afternoon flowed into the evening in Fortitude Valley where we watched Kodi’s band Victor Bravo perform live for the first time in way too long. It was a primo show with heaps of hot young scantily clad chicks, hip looking muso dudes with finely trimmed moustaches and a couple of beat up old cunts going as hard out as the performing band. These Victor Bravo kids are still finding their feet in both the musical and the real world but they got the goods musically and hoping they manage to find their way through the eye of the needle and make it.

But it’s nice to see ya kids doing what they love. With one it’s music and the other it’s rugby. Except for injuries of course. Injuries suck. Dilan’s a tough little cunt though, I’ll give him that. Played a full game of school rugby for Iona College and another 15 minutes for the 2nd 15 and rolled his ankle during the second game. Even played the last seven or so minutes hobbling around.

As mentioned before, Kodi had his birthday and the first wife wasn’t feeling real flash but I cooked us a few mean as feeds including my own aptly named butbut style chicken on my new smoker, some American style pork ribs and the following day I smoked some fish (mullet) that I fucked up because mouthfuls of salt ain’t a cuisine I’d like to return to.

This will be one of those ‘I guess you had to be there’ stories but was driving Dilan to school and had Marjana next to me. She might seem nice to y’all but I tell ya what, you do not want to be some old rich cunt living his midlife crises in a small expensive convertible in front of us and not taking off immediately when the light turns green or otherwise you gunna be getting a bit of this (sorry I stopped the recording before she finished her snorting)…

‘Fuck off you little cunt’

Not really a funny quote of the day but worth the mention when talking about Marjana getting repeated nausea…

Our Oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one – I guess the best thing we could do is stop the nausea.

Me – I’m thinkin’ probably the best thing could be to cure cancer, maybe.’

Here’s a positive I guess… these blogs have changed from daily updates about staying alive and the intricate moments involved to an almost journal like retelling on us living life. A boring life even. But that has to be a good thing, aye.

Like a couple of Deadheads at a Victor Bravo concert

#39 Marjana and her beard

As far as first wives go, mine ain’t too bad actually.

Yeah she growls like a crusty old lion with a sore tooth, she snorts like a hungry pig when I’m trying to watch tv, she snores like a gold medallist at the snoring Olympics, she always leaves the vacuum cleaner out as a trip hazard and yeah she does have that cunty bowel cancer shit going on, but I kinda dig her aye.

Wanna know what I reckon? Everyone’s fighting their own battles with some struggling with hard core shit and others struggling with over irrelevant shit but it’s how people perceive whatever’s happening in their lives that affects how we respond.

So when my first wife asked me to use my clippers to trim fluffy bits of her now no longer bald head, I asked if she wanted me to continue onto her face and trim her beard. She laughed like a snorting spastic.

Snorting spastics are some of my favourite spastics by the way.

Well actually, we both laughed because yeah she’s got a fluffy face that could easily be mistaken for ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons but it’s actually quite calming to run my fingers through it, much like stroking the soft coat of our pissing cat or patting our gannet of a dog.

But jokes aside, even though I’m a great believer in ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’ both my cook and I often need to remind ourselves of exactly that.

Does what we’re worrying about really affect the things that really matter and often the answer is no. On the occasions when the answer is actually yes then maybe drink more piss and eat more primo feeds or alternatively try something else that’s probably better for your health.

Basically though, this cunty cancer has cleared our vision somewhat to try and enjoy life without worrying about the small things.

The ol’ girl’s vertigo has come back a couple times over the last month and it’s a real cunt so we put in some strategies to sort that like going to see that brainy vertigo physio sheila and doing some funky exercises. It’s good to note though that one of Marjana’s super powers (eating apple cores) hasn’t been affected.

But we also managed to take some of our inner circle on a sailing excursion on Sunday where we all basically lived life and had one of the best days ever. Fuck it was an awesome day, man. Good for all and thanks needs to go out to Marjana’s work mates who gave her the voucher for her 50th birthday present from funds raised in a cake sale. Fucken good cunts I reckon.

The first wife had another CT scan on Monday and of course yesterday (Wednesday) was Chernobyl Day with the chemo juice now flowing through her veins till lunchtime tomorrow. With every scan comes a heap of trepidation as to what will the result be. Like, you know, is the chemo and all the sickness that comes with it working and actually worth it?

We’re thinking a big fat yes because there’s nothing I love more than having my first wife around to annoy the fuck out of me (see paragraph two) – except for maybe when she does stuff that doesn’t annoy me or I do stuff that annoys the fuck out of her.

If it wasn’t for chemotherapy she would be dead. And that would suck big time because I dig my first wife heaps. She gets pissed off but I often remind her that she’s the winner as she’s the only sheila in the world I ever chose to be my wife and she’s still around. So fucken yeehaa for that revolting chemo shit that makes her go real yellow. Yellow is a colour of alive as far as I’m concerned.

She’s actually a bit upset of late because she’s been putting on a kilo per week and I know ya ain’t supposed to talk about a sheila’s age or weight but I’m a cunt so this 50-year-old first wife of mine now weighs 69kg and is worried about how she looks. Your quote of the day is our real life conversation about it…

Marjana: I’m getting fat Brendon. I keep putting on weight, like a kilo every single week. Will you still love me when I’m fat like an Oompa Loompa, ljubavi?

Me: What do you mean when? Oompa Loompas are actually orange ya know and you’re already heaps yellow so you’re kinda already like one and I still love you now.

But anyway, we laughed and went for a 6km walk together with our old fat dog Bella so basically we were like a small gang of old fat cunts walking the street. One black, one yellow and one just a bald fat guts type colour.

Previously, Marjana would talk to her Mama as often as she could and when her brother Slobo was at home they would Facetime. Well with the help of our nephew Ivan, we scored Mama a tablet so she and my first wife can Facetime each other every day.

It’s getting better now but talk about laugh, man. Watching an old school Croatian woman try to use a device when she deaf and blind as fuck and I’m just talking about Marjana, so imagine both her and her ol’ lady in action.

Nah, it’s great to see the smile on both their faces when they yell at each other really loudly. Not yelling as in angry yelling. Just yelling because they’re Dalmatian and that’s how they talk.

Dalmatians also love to talk with their hands too so I often have a little snigger to myself when they’re yelling at each other and trying to use their hands at the same time and realise they’re restricted because they need their hands to hold the tablet to see each other.

I love the joy these conversations bring to my first wife every single day.

Chatting with Mama and Marjana’s two brothers Slobo and Nebo

We aint real brainy out these ways but we’ve just worked out why my back is rooted. It’s from giving the first wife too many cuddle because seriously man, check out these action shot pics with and without the model…

Finally the results from the first wife’s latest scan… It’s basically status quo with the cancer still very much there and mostly remaining the same size, bar one lymph node that’s grown. We would’ve loved for our Oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, to say a miracle has happened and it’s all gone or even that it’s shrunk but hasn’t happened yet. I was once let into a Grateful Dead concert for free by cops in the States, so I for one believe in miracles.

On a positive note though, you, me, my first wife, our kids and hopefully nobody else you know woke up dead this morning so fuck yeah.

Easter in church showing thanks and appreciation and also asking for many things including a certain cunty cancer to fuck off

These words of wisdom were brought to you by making the most out of a cunt of a situation and of course the result of fine hops.

Apple core training video

#38 Life after 50

A friend asked me the other day how I am coping with my first wife having cancer and I didn’t really want to talk about it to be honest. I usually end up sweating from my eyes if one scratches the surface with delving questions.

Not one to be rude though, I did reply saying probably the hardest thing is seeing the ol’ girl when she looks sick as fuck. Walking up the stairs to find her asleep on the couch, looking pasty, pale or even Simpsons like yellow and basically not looking real flash and is simply a cunt of a feeling. Every parent whose had a sick baby at hospital would know a similar feeling of utter helplessness. Not every day because there are good days and bad days but it absolutely breaks ya heart, man!

And that’s just the third party people like myelf. Imagine how the one dealing with it feels. Poor girl…

But apparently there is a counter action for battling bowel cancer and it’s called shopping.

Thanks to some of you who gave my maid shopping vouchers for her 50th birthday she recuperated phenomenally over a number of days thanks to shopping.

Seriously though, that form of therapeutic treatment should be in medical journals.

(Un)fortunately I had what I am lead to believe was the privilege of accompanying my housemaid during these therapeutic excursions.

It was soooo much fun….!!!

In fact I feel very sad she has now used all her vouchers and as such she has no need to return to any shopping centres for a very long time (fingers crossed).

We had an appointment with our baby faced surgeon Peter a couple weeks ago. He really is a good cunt and even recently had a lecture with our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one. Just shows they are specialists in their area but with Peter I’m starting to wonder if he organises these appointments because he just needs a laugh.

It wasn’t until she lay on Peter’s examination bed and pulled up her dress for him to examine her surgery scars that she realised she was wearing an old raggedy pair of undies with so many frayed holes and rips they looked like sexy lacy lingerie, or at least a back woods redneck version of them.

Thinking this may be why she got herself some new undies during her shopping excursions.

She’s actually been feeling pretty good lately to be honest. Managed to go on a few walks to our local dog beach with Bella and that’s a 6km turnaround so could be worse. Problem is she, because of her chemo she has to hide from the sun so often looks like a Muslim sheila in that full body covering get up some of ’em wear. I know quite a few Muslims and they’re all good bastards so no issue my end but does suck on hot days.

Kodi came for a visit the other day and with that comes your quote of the day…

Kodi (serious as fuck): Where’s the Gary Coleman?

Me and the first wife: Huh, Gary Coleman?

Kodi: Yeah the sandwich maker grill I always use.

Me and the first wife: Oh, you mean the George Foreman (laughter).

For those old enough to remember Gary Coleman in Different Strokes and his ‘What you talking about Willis?’ line and George Foreman the boxer and not just his grill should see the irony in the similarities between the two.

Our young cuzzie Kimberley is back from abroad and came out to surprise us and play with some wigs with the mrs. Why let them have all the fun right…

Thinking I know who the prettiest ones here are

Finally, a couple young fellas have been charged with robbery from an incident in Cleveland just after midnight Saturday where our young fella Dilan was the victim. I’m trying to be nice here as apart from ‘first call’ it hasn’t gone to court yet, so it’s still only alleged.

This isn’t an official police report and is my own personal blog so It’s alleged that five piece of shit cunts did that coward dog act of ganging up against one dude who became separated from his mates. Because a one on one fight just wouldn’t be fair when you’re a piece of shit coward cunt.

I’m also alleging that Dilan was punched, kicked and bottled over the head and that Dilan stood his ground and fought back landing punches of his own.

I’m further alleging that whilst Dilan was on the ground these piece of shit cunts ripped his satchel off him that contained his wallet and some other shit and stole it.

When we got the phone call, we immediately picked him up and went straight to the cop shop to report it.

For any piece of shit cunts who may be reading this and reckon reporting shit to cops is snitching or a dog act, how about you go fuck yourself. The dog act is being a coward cunt in a pack to start with and all you cuntheads pretending to be ‘gangsta as’ or tough cunts are actually soft cock coward cunts in my eyes. Y’all only say shit like ‘snitches get stitches’ to deter ya victims from reporting shit ‘cos ya know ya not gunna get away with it if it’s reported, so fuck you, fuck off and go and get fucked cunt. None of us, including Dilan are intimidated by y’all..

Maybe try and be a decent human being. It’s actually a good feeling and good things happen to people who do good things. What comes around goes around.

We spent the entire night at hospital and shortly after we got home we heard that the coppers had charged two of the offenders and located some of Dilan’s gear in their car so a thank you to the responding and investigating officers for your efforts to date.

Dilan plays hooker and prop and was probably too pretty for a front rower anyway.

# 37 The reaching of a milestone

Far out man, so much can happen in a month and heaps has since I last blogged. Hate doing these long catch ups as tend to struggle finding rhythm to make them flow from trying to fit heaps in. But that ain’t your fault; I’m the lazy cunt here, not you.

So what’s happened of late? A couple of Chernobyl days and the inevitable grossness that comes with it (including a chunder or two), I pissed off the first wife even more than normal and made her sad (not one of my finer moments I admit but I’ll cook you a mean as feed of scallops in exchange for your mercy, ljubavi), had us some doctor visits, some church visits and seen a man in a white cloak (a priest not a fucken straitjacket dude ya spastics), one child gained employment and another gained a title called ‘House Captain’ at school, a work visit and a little something called Marjana’s half century birthday celebration.

Anthony House Captain and his proud Mama

Wont go into all things but first up I’ll touch on the Chernobyl Days. As I pen this the first wife is catching Zs with both her drip feeding chemo bottle and our cunthead cat Pudding snuggled up to her.

Nobody knows better than a cat the positive effects on humans that cat cuddles, the soothing sound of their purring and that little kneading foot massage thing they do, has. And our pissing cat knows her mamma is a little bit sick right now.

Whilst on that note, not sure if any of you fellas heard of this thing called a cat litter box? Yeah, it has like sand and shit and does wonders for people dealing with cunty cats that piss inside on ones clothes. Quite and amazing invention really 😉

The chemo effects were knocking the ol’ girl around more than Jake the Muss so our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, has tweaked his warlock brew and taken out one of the key players; the cunty spew one apparently.

It’s a double edged sword though because although she’s no longer spewing like an unfit front rower at pre season training, we’re hoping the removal of such a key ingredient also wont inhibit her recovery.

On a negative note, that chemo piece of the puzzle usually takes a good 90 minutes to shoot up and with that now gone I’ve lost my blogging mojo. Along with the odd eyelid flutter and pat directed at my first wife I’ve lost a good chunk of genuine blog dedicated time. Might have to have a whisper to our oncologist who I’m not allowed to call a gnome even though he looks like one, about reinstating it. Hmmm…

Ol mate also allowed her to take an extra week off for her 50th birthday celebration. He’s a good cunt like that.

Took a little bit of effort to pull it all together but it turned into a fucking primo night. Was awesome to see those that turned up and the joy y’all brought the birthday girl by being there. Even if she didn’t get to spend much time with each of you, she seriously had a primo time and was on cloud nine for days after.

Woke up to a 50-year-old sheila this morning

Turning 50-years-old is a bloody good reason for a piss up I reckon and in this case even more so, ‘cos when this cunty cancer thing invaded our lives there was a time when we weren’t sure if my little Dalmatinka would live to be 50 years old.

But she did and like I told her this morning she’s so fucking spoilt because she’s still living, even though she’s now already past that goalpost. Might have to do what wives do to their husbands once they get ’em and change them, (move the goalposts that is 😉)

Apart from smashing out two bottle skulls and being reigning champion of our pee tree, my main party trick is feeding hungry cunts and I’d like to think that was accomplished quite nicely.

It’d be rude to not to mention certain people and specific gifts but I’m gunna be rude and not mention names because will leave people that matter out. But please take peace in knowing that each and every gift Marjana received was appreciated but not as much as your company on the night. Y’all deserve a ‘fuck yeah’!

For those that couldn’t make it, y’all just a bunch of cunts… but ya not really as we know you would’ve been there if ya could, if it wasn’t for things like work, international Covid travel restrictions and also attendee numbers also being restricted by Covid.

Heaps of thanks to all who helped before, during and after the party. Could not have pulled this together without y’all input. Anyone that helped is welcome to come around and drink some piss with me. My shout. Actually, fucken anyone is welcome to come around and drink piss with me whether ya helped or not.

How we felt for a few days after the party, deflated

A week before my cook’s birthday we tee’d up a visit to her work. Although she’s had untold contact with heaps of her workmates via messages, calls or visits, she hadn’t been to work since she was diagnosed with that cunty cancer. She was so looking forward to it and absolutely loved the visit and catching up with everyone. I ain’t never seen anyone so happy to go to prison.

Although I’ve been to prisons in my line of work I hadn’t actually been to Brisbane Women’s which is where my favourite vacumer worked, and the little tour was very much appreciated. Not only did I get to meet a bunch of Marjana’s workmates and guests of the Queen in their natural habitat but I now know what it feels like to walk the catwalk naked at a hens party.

One of my first wife’s mates asked how I felt about seeing inside the prison and your quote of the day comes from that conversation…

Colleague (asked via Marjana): How did Brendon enjoy his visit to the women’s prison?

Me: Felt like a chunk of meat.

Colleague: Hope it was a chunk of fillet steak he felt like and not chuck steak.

Me: A very soft tender piece of succulent meat that anyone without teeth could eat (you may have to visit to appreciate this reply).

Finally, if ever my Mrs needed evidence to prove I’m a dumb cunt, here it is. I made a couple more shelves, one that fit perfectly at the end of our hall and the other larger one was a left over piece to use elsewhere… Guess which one I [ut the legs on? #dumbcunt 😒

A somewhat handy but very much a dumb cunt

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