One had absolutely no clue that One’s TV showed sport of any kind.
Sashaying from One’s boudoir, having had a petite nap in the truckle bed, One was met with the vista of the Wood Nymph prostrate on Paulette’s sofa, beer in hand with, wait for it…
THE SODDING WINTER OLYMPICS ON MY TV
Not only is One missing The Real Housewives of Somewhere or Other, but she keeps chirping up with a commentary of events that are taking place before us.
‘I don’t care,’ One has opined ‘I would rather poke myself in the eye repeatedly with a rusty nail.’
All to no avail…
If she’s not careful I shall slap the back of her legs and shut her in her room until she’s thirty seven.
Upon One’s arrival at 10 Radio this morning One espied a massive great TV set dumped in the driveway. Clearly some other discerning viewer taking no chances. In a desperate effort to avoid the mind numbingly boring bloody sport, someone had hurled their TV out of the window in desperation.
Paulette’s sofa is being minded by me until M finds somewhere to put it.
There you are, you’d have been worrying about that all day wouldn’t you!