Wibble

I fear that Jonny has finally lost it.

For two days I've been watching him. Most of that time he has been sitting on the toilet, dressed in only his pants, with a loaded rifle by his side. He looks increasingly gaunt, he's grown a small beard, and he seems to be mumbling about killer rabbits.

One thing is for sure, that gun will be either turned on himself, or the next person to turn up at his house. There is only one thing to do.

I send Mrs Short Tony around for a cup of sugar.