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Sunday, 25 May 2014

In which One answers a call for help...

Here is One drowsing in a big comfy bed (alone) Bert is on the futon, and One is V rudely awakened by a cry for HELP.

Snuggling down neath the duvet One hears said cry again.

HELP HELP HELP

Forced from One's slumbers by a call of duty, One opened the curtains expecting to find at least one gentleman in distress, who would be so grateful and mesmerized when finding the angelic gob of LO gazing upon him he would propose forthwith and immediately set up a substantial monthly allowance for One.

But no, Dear Reader, outside by the stream   was an old codger bellowing at a despondent looking greyhound.

WHAT KIND OF EEJIT CALLS A FECKING DOG 'HELP' fer fecks sake?

Although, to be fair, One did have a cat called ' Oi'

Any road up, One went back to bed.  Incidentally it is, OR WAS, One's bed and One's futon.

In fact One is like the DFS version of Mother fecking Theresa with all the items of furniture One has given to the deserving poor.

Vile ex Husband has got his boney old arse all over me Chesterfields.  Uncle Bert is either kipping in me big bed or reclining like a morbidly obese consumptive on me futon.

And here's poor darling Lovely One with but a tiny, lonely, single truckle bed that One could hardly cram an Accountant in.

WORTH A TRY THOUGH, isn't it Dears!


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