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Sunday, 28 September 2014

In which One is a cream tease...

One has devised a new measurement of time.
Each of One's journeys shall henceforth be measured in songs.
As you are aware, Dear Reader, The A of the F waited four and a half hours for One on One's first foray into North Deepest.
The A A calculated the journey at one hour (20 songs) but One didn't actually read the email from th a A with the directions, so One fecked it up monumentally.
Any road up, the actual length of the loveliest drive of all is 23 songs.
One sings at the top of One's lung capacity, beginning with 'Something Stupid' and usually ends with
My Funny Valentine' or something of that ilk.
One longs to hurl Oneself into the arms of the A, but is currently playing it cool in the manner of a grown up, so a punch in the kidneys has to suffice.
The A is currently wowing the great unwashed in a speedboat, whilst ackled up in his wetsuit and, flipping' 'eck, does he look hot, or what!
Aren't chaps who don't know how delicious they are completely irresistible?
Then again, maybe it's just One who could lightly poach him and swallow him whole.
With that thrilling supper in mind One biffed off for some accompaniments this very a.m.
Over reaching to the top shelf, One upset an entire display of cream cartons all over the shop floor and Oneself.
Liberally coated with more than a sufficiency of clotted, One hastily clarred toward the exit, got One's bondage shoe stuck under the safety mat and sprawled headlong into the path of an unsuspecting cove.
The A has expressed his fondness for a Devon Cream Tea. Perchance he'd like to lick the cream off a Somerset Dumpling?

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