It would appear that this week is going to end up as one of those that hasn’t been even a tiny bit industrious.
The ‘Roger Whittaker’ look a like is still set to be ‘teaed and bunned’ on Friday but due to mounting pressure from the RR the picnic tryst is back on and due to come to pass this very morn.
I know, I know, Dear Reader, ‘tis a foolish wench that chooses a Rogering over a Whittakering at this point in life but One is back aboard the old runaway train.
Any road up, One attempted to purloin a bottle of the finest from Maison Pink whereupon One spilled the haricots about the RR.
Apparently ‘shagging on picnics’ is practically de rigueur up the council estate and One was instructed to do so forthwith.
Of course One shall do no such thing and as a precaution shall be wearing One’s control leggings under me Chloe tea dress. That should dislocate any ageing finger joint that ventures south of the border, down Twinkletime way.
Thus far a bottle of Bolly and a pack of wetwipes are in the picker nick basket.
Do you think One will require anything further, Dear Reader?