At last One’s general bon oeuf demeanour has been rewarded by the generous donation of a studio all to Oneself.
Not any old studio, but one overlooking a field of sheep.
Any road up, the delicious gentleman must have expired in the night because One hasn’t had a message of undying devotion for AT LEAST TWENTY MINUTES
‘How soon the flame of love can die’ (Henry Mancini)
C’est la vie, or at least One’s vie anyway…
What a lovely day yesterday, the Wivey choir singing in the little Minx’s garden. A glorious medley of show tunes sung in perfect harmony whilst we all sunk slowly into the boggy grass in our garden chairs.
The little Minx was darting about like a thing possessed mwa-mwa-ing all and sundry and forcing persons to buy raffle tickets in order to win unwanted Christmas presents from 1972.
Tea, cake, pussycats and all well with the world.
‘Everything’s going my way’ (Oaklahoma)