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Wednesday, 11 June 2014

In which One is mourning One’s loss…


SATISFIED? All you un-believers who imagine One bosom-deep in asses milk, necking a box of Lidl’s Pinot and smoking fags all day!

I know, I know, it’s not actually finished, but it would have been if next door hadn’t trundled in with tasks various for One to perform –INSTANTLY.

Granted – When the call came, One was actually in the foetal position in the truckle bed still recovering from the Supper a trois, but, One had been wielding a paintbrush since 5.00am so One thoroughly deserved a teeny nap, didn’t One, Dear Reader.

Any road up, that was yesterday.  A yesterday, One might hasten to add, that was barely interrupted AT ALL by protestations of desire/need/want or any other One-based requirement!

‘how soon the flame of love can die,’ (Henry Mancini) 

Yes!  I know, we had him last week, Dear Reader, but if it fits, bung it in!

One even took all comms based products into the boudoir lest anyone be anxious to hear the gravelly tones of One.

Did they ‘eck as like!  Even the WN was nowhere to be seen.  Submerged with LB, no doubt.


Have just this minute surveyed the person that is Lovely One in the gothic looking glass and all has become clear.

One appears to have One’s face on inside out and let’s face it, polka-dot baby-dolls and Ugg boots aren’t a good look for the over fifties.

No matter, One shall survey the ground anyway and give ‘im next door an eyeful.  After all, One shall be banished from the grounds before the passing of many a moon.

How shall One survive?

It’s not what happens to One, it’s how One reacts to it.  That is a mantra One attempts to live by…


At this precise moment One is stamping One’s Ugg, wiping a tear from One’s eye and in dire need of a massive cuddle.

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