Here is One looking like a boiled wool obelisk with One’s Choclatey Claires.
Clearly in pensive mood…
‘Shall One. Shan’t One.’
One did, of course.
Don’t fight it. Bite it!
Any road up, as me Granny would say…
‘If things don’t alter, they’ll remain as they are.’
And guess what? They’ve altered.
One had to break the news to Lovely Gordon that One will be shearing with immediate effect. Obv, he is utterly beside himself, what with One being the only constant in his life.
But, there you have it, or don’t have it, as the case may be, One simply cannot hang around in the Underground Lair on the off chance that LG will front up, up the passage on the odd occasion and One shall have to take up One’s truckle bed and feck off.
Fortunately One has a chum who will be taking One in, in the manner of a friend of the bosom/companion sort of way.
Just as well, since One would be a gentleperson of the road otherwise.