One imagines that this is the face of the Lord. Well it better be because One spent an inordinate amount of time prostrate on the floor of the Church in Selworthy attempting not to wobble the camera in order to capture his image. Some down-trodden, serf-like blighter had obv had to scramble up the rickety Medieval scaffolding and paint the thing so One thought the least One could do was show it to you, Dear Reader.
Any road up, One hopes you are in a suitably worshipful mood for himself, and of course, Lovely One who is, after all, Jesus’s favourite.
One is exceptionally fortunate to be able to survey the Lord’s fizzog this v lovely a.m…..
‘Pray, why is that Lovely One?’ One hears you, my sad little subjects chorus in unison.
‘Well,’ One should have to reply, ‘last evening One repaired to the local hostelry with the Wood Nymph to have a farewell supper and a few pints of falling down water.
One, being unused to the vast quantities of ale quaffed by the WN was rat-arsed before the burgers arrived.
AND ONE EVEN ATE CHIPS (fries, Michael)
As you know, Dear Reader, One is a social outcast because of One’s dislike of the humble British chippington.
Not last night, Dear Reader, they were being posted past One’s pearlies (teeth, Michael) at a furious rate of knots and washed down with a vast quantity of Thatcher’s Gold.
When we got home the WN discovered a bottle of Lidl’s finest Pinot dans le Frigidaire.
In fact One was in such a two and eight (state, Michael, cockney rhyming slang) that One inadvertently removed One’s make-up with a Femfresh Intimate Wipe. Well, the packet is the same as the Waterproof Mascara Remover, in my defence.
Any road up One now has eyes puffington to the degree that One looks like One has gone ten rounds with Marvin Haggler.
But every last trace of waterproof mascara has been removed from One’s twinkle!