Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s three good things…
Ha ha fecking ha
One followed all the instructions, his lemon tart came out all deep and squidgy and mine came out – yeah right out of the feckin’ tin and all over the baking tray!
One was attempting to ward off feelings of gloom and doom, what with being abandoned in the Underground Lair by Uncle Bert and Gladys the wonderdog. Well, abandoned during the daylight hours at the mo, since he has to biff up here for supper til a week on Saturday when some down market emporium will be delivering his white goods. One does reasonable rates, catering wise.
A rather unfortunate day in all respects. One decided to take on the scaffold company that have seen fit to deploy my lawn as a storage depot…
‘Hello I live at ……’
‘Oh yeah darlin’ I’s tryin’ t’ get ‘old of yer neighbour all day right to say we’s coming termorra.’
‘Well could you please take all the stuff off….’
‘I’ve told yer darlin’ I’m DOIN’ IT.’
‘I wonder, could you not call me darlin’, my name is Mrs Rice.’
‘Right, that’s it, I ain’t doin’ it nar. You can ‘ave it fer another two weeks … brrrrrrrrrrrr
Well, what a fecking liberty! and no mistake!
AND some other article appeared outside the French windows and started rodding me flamin’ drains without a by your leave, nor nothing!
‘Er what exactly are you doing in my garden,’ enquired One
‘Well, ‘ee said you’s out,’ replied the oik pointing toward One’s special neighbours.
Woss goin’ on?
One needs H F-W’s three good things.
2 Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
3 A bottle of Baby oil