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Thursday, 5 June 2014

In which ‘It’s such a perfect day’…

‘How do you like your eggs in the morning?’ (Dean Martin)

‘Unfertilised,’ (Wood Nymph)

The Peer of the Realm has perfected the perfect poached, One hears.

Dans le Underground Lair, however, One was busily applying ‘Dettol Mould and Mildew’ to areas that hadn’t been uncovered for the passing of many a moon, and holding out not a small hope that eggs wouldn’t be incinerated in Extra Virgin dans le petit salle a manger.

‘Ken I heff your meelk?’ came the enquiry, and One’s generous bosom heaved a sigh of relief to learn that porridge was being constructed.

Having spent the goodliest part of an entire day sandblasting the Underground Lair, One hoped against hope that it wouldn’t exude the parfum of a transport caff.

Any road up, One flopped in relief onto the truckle bed and, gazing up at the ceiling, let out a shriek.

‘What eez eet?’ came the enquiry as the WN flew into the second best boudoir.

‘Look at that ceiling!’ countered Lovely One with a note of panic last heard when we ran out of Pinot.

‘Noooooo  Weeeeey!’ yelled WN, ‘Wot eez eet?’

Let me explain, Dear Reader…

For the passing of many an evening, since being banished to the second best boudoir, One has been musing verily upon a large number of shiny caramel coloured blobs on the ceiling directly above the truckle bed.  One has supposed that a previous occupant has felt it necessary to spray the contents of a coke can Heavenward.

Any other explanation has proven too ghastly to dwell upon, and One has drifted off to dreamland on a nightly basis and ignored aforementioned – until now.

‘Stend beck, I know what I’m dooooiiing,’ ordered the WN from the doorway, brandishing a bucket of bleach and a mop.

Off came the Doc Martens and clad in the comedy socks she mounted the truckle bed with a single bound and started mopping the ceiling.

‘Looook et yoooo,’ she opined, ‘you spend all day polishing the floor when you should hef been cleaning the ceiling.  Don’t you know anything!’

And, Dear Reader, how right she was!

‘Oh it’s such a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you,’  (Lou Reed) Oh and (Lovely One)

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