In it plopped, into the ‘in’ box of One’s email tray…
An order from ‘The Hall’ - you know – where One and Henry Moore bung our stuff for you smelly poor people to Ooooh and Aaaaah over.
Any road up, they still haven’t got the message that One isn’t John-fecking-Lewis or Amazon (One actually IS an Amazon, but that’s a whole nother story).
Thirty two items in all this month. 2 off - sixteen different pictures. I ask you Dear Reader, are these bods stchooooopid, or what?
‘I don’t actually print from all my paintings,’ One explained.
‘Well it would be an investment,’ came the reply from someone who gets paid (the same amount) every fecking month regardless of whether she actually sells anything or not!
Oh Bollicks and Fokkit!
I HAVE TO SELL MY CURRENT STOCK BEFORE I CAN AFFORD ANY MORE YOU BRAINLESS TWONKS
(flippin’ ‘eck! I hope she doesn’t read this)
So, off One popped to the homestead of one of One’s chums to beg her darling hubbster to knock off a few prints on the cheap.
The hubbster in question is an Angel sent from Heaven and had even made Chocolate Eclairs in honour of One’s visit. I LOVE HIM
Now, the visit was a rip-roaring success, as per, but, call me old-fashioned, when One invites a chum for lunch, One actually stays at home for the duration of the visit.
Not so, One’s chum! Three times she cleared off out on missions various.
With a hubbster like that One wouldn’t take any chances that someone else might try to have a go on him, and frankly, if One had the energy to heave One’s quivering mass off the sofa, One might have done just that!