All the world is fast asleep and peacefully twitching and shifting in it’s truckle bed…
EXCEPT LOVELY ONE
What’s to be done to remedy this ever increasing situation?
Warm milk and honey?
Soothing whale song?
Massive servings of pash?
NO……. the ancient art of
SNAIL HURLING IS THE ANSWER
One has been abroad about the grounds with One’s torch this very night collecting the slimy shell-dwelling blighters and pitching them with indecent haste over the fence into next door’s garden.
One’s rocket bucket should be brimming with health inducing greenery for consumption by Wood Nymphs and the descendants of romantic poets.
Slimy molluscs much favoured by the ghastly French are nipping up and down me greenery like things possessed.
And to think that on this most satisfactory of weekends One has practically been residing in the enchanted forest of Snow White communing with God’s creatures.
In fact, One is fairly sure that One has perfected the charming fluidity of movement that pervaded the v early Disney motion pictures and One glides through the world in a manner most serene.
One has encountered more wildlife upon One’s perambulatory passage than previously espied in all the long lonely years in these parts.
Or could it be that One is simply viewing the world through the prism of passion?
No matter, Dear Reader, suffice it to say that the Underground Lair has been positively awash with throbbing hormones this very weekend, what with the WN plotting ways to submerge Peers of the Realm in tepid bathwater, whilst her much more lady-like chum attempts to smother the ardour with a Matalan bath sheet.
Any road up, One was swerving to avoid a bunny rabbit, whilst watching a woodpecker in flight when a deer bolted from the forest and charged in front of the Ferrari, no less.
One wouldn’t have batted a carefully made-up eyelid if seven tiny little men had appeared from a clearing and demanded to fall upon the person of Lovely One and smother her satin self with kisses.
After all, the queue of prospective suitors is straggling from here to the waterworks at the mo!
Old and chubby is the new black!
One’s musings were brought to an indecent and hasty conclusion, however, when One reached One’s destination in order to collect the two little bundles of raging hormones from the PYO fruit farm.
There will be an unused glut of clotted cream about the West Country this summer, Dear Reader, for two young ladies have eaten all the strawberries in Somerset.