Bore snore bore snore…
Nothing happens any more…
In an effort to save on fuel for the Ferrari, One has enlisted the efforts of Parcel Force to deliver One’s wares, thereby removing, in one stroke, the last reason for leaving the Underground Lair.
As of now, One is fast becoming a hirsute recluse (there being no reason to harvest super-floo-us hair) since One is never seen by anyone.
One simply goes tripping from room to room like a bearded Amazon, naked, apart from the JML comfort bra and tartan leggings.
I know, I know, desire and disgust in a equal measure, Dear Reader.
Even so, One is still being ethereally pursued by ‘Geezer’ and some article called ‘Jonno.’
One may be slightly past One’s prime but One would NEVER EVER entertain the idea of allowing someone called Geezer under me quilt!
However, standards may continue to slide on a daily basis, since One is ill equipped to trundle through life on One’s own.
One had the company of Uncle Bert at the weekend as his boiler has had a skull and crossbones slapped on it and he’s been left freezing in his new man cave.
As soon as he arrived the hall took on the properties of a cash and carry. What is it with men and their endless carrier bags full of stuff?
When married to Vile-ex-Husband, One operated the fourteen day rule:
If it stayed unattended in the hall for longer than two weeks it got chucked into the garden.
One doesn’t have that kind of power of anyone anymore, sadly.
But, have discovered Spareroom.com and am expecting the arrival of a roomie any day soon.