There it is ready and waiting for any little scrounging feckers who knock me up for money or sweets. Don’t bother. The Underground Lair doesn’t celebrate ridiculous American traditions. Lovely One will be marking the 5th November instead like all self respecting English personages, and burning an asylum seeker at the stake whilst eating a potato cooked in the fire at his feet.
Any way, One is feeling rejected by the rest of the human race and has addressed the situation by eating all the smarties One bought for any passing thugs.
Am spending the weekend decorating the kingdom of Spare Oooom in preparation for the coming official visit of the Aged P. All super-floo-us dog hair and man smells have been expunged from the domain and as soon as Uncle Bert gets his white goods sorted, all dirty food from places like Iceland will be transported from the confines of the Underground Lair straight to the new man cave. Thus making room for fois gras and scallops with choritzo, the favoured diet of the Lovely One.
Last evening was simply divine…
One soaked in the bath, with the door open (it gets a bit steamed up in there), One flollopped about on the sofa, half naked with me smarties and a bottle of Pinot G whilst watching Poirot.
But it is weird being on One’s own. It has occurred to One that One hasn’t lived alone EVER.
First it was sharing with the Borilla, One’s flat mate (too big to be a bear and too ugly to be a gorilla)
Secondly – A, who lived with One during the week and returned home to his wife at the weekends. (Don’t ask – One has a chequered career in the man department)
Thirdly – Vile ex Husband and eventually, Boy, then Boy and me
Lastly – Uncle Bert in various guises
And now just the flollopy dollop that is Lovely One, all alone and unable to meet the mortgage.