‘Hello,’ murmured a post Pinot Lovely One into the mouthpiece, having been awakened at some ungodly hour.
‘That Enid has bought me a PURPLE T-shit with Bloody GLITTER all over it,’ was the response. ‘How can people who’ve know you for fecking years always buy you something absolutely VILE for Christmas?’
Even through the miasma of Christmas Eve dans le duvet farts and Pinot perfume, One felt that Aged P has answered her own question there!
‘I’m just getting in the shower and I thought I’d better phone you in case you phoned me,’ she continued. ‘ I don’t feel Christmassy at all and I’ve got to make the gravy at Iris’s because her’s is like runny shit.’
‘Oh I see,’ countered One, ‘Have you had any other nice presents?’
‘Men’s soap! Fancy buying me that Imperial Leather? That’s mens!, and anyway how are you getting here on Sunday?’
‘Well, in the car,I thought,’ went on One.
‘Well what if it’s bad weather again?’
‘If it’s bad weather I’ll come on another day.’
‘Huh, I suppose I shall have to wear that jumper Iris bought me, I’ve got to go now. Delphine’s daughter is taking her to a hotel for Christmas dinner and it costs £150 per person. What do you think of that then?’
By this time One is taking One’s chances under the duvet and wondering why anyone would spend that much on a roast dinner.