So here we all jolly well are then. Well, One and Boy actually and not exactly jolly.
Aged P is more concerned about Boy not having brought any PJ’s or a clean towel than actually seeing him.
The hospital visit is this afternoon so today seemed like a good time to once again approach the subject of moving to a more suitable gaff.
‘They get priority,’ informed Aged P with a swift digit indication to next door.
‘No they don’t’, I opined. (They being the evil foreigners) Who, incidentally came round yesterday with home made cakes for her.
‘They do here,’ she went on, meaning the council actively assists immigrants rather than the indigenous population.
I know, I know, utter nonsense.
‘What about the places that are being built at the top of the road?’ One ploughed on.
‘They’re crap!’ was the sensible retort.
‘Oh you’ve been in one then,’ I countered,
‘No, I went past there in a car.’
How on earth does One attempt to get any sense out of an attitude like that.
Peace brokerage has failed entirely on my part between Aged P and the Brother, who now has added ‘she ruined my childhood’ to the list of surprising calamities.
I give in.
I wish someone would move me out of my unsuitable old broken down gaff into a nice new warm modern apartment.
But that’s just silly old One for you!
Happy New Year