A B, C D Goldfish? That’s One that is, that goldfish. Running out of time…
(incidentally, the A of the F accused the cerebral One of having ‘the attention span of a goldfish.’ Cheek! One thought about him for seventy three seconds all in one go once)
Or, as the case may be, NOT… (re running out of time) see lost it there already!
Unbeknownst to you, Dear Reader, One has been having a life and death struggle with, well, life and death.
One is a very brave soldier and had only informed a v few of One’s adoring public that One may be shuffling off this mortal coil at the positive peak of One’s prime…
Having finally grown into One’s looks and that three sizes too small Chloe tea dress what One got in the sales, that’s been moth-scoff in the back of the fabulous Edwardian wardrobe forever, One thought One was going to croak.
But no, One has been entirely investigated from the top of One’s beautifully coiffed head to One’s shiny, pink pedicured toes, One is in fine fettle/perfect shape/positively brimming with life and full of natural goodness.
Upon the receipt of this news One immediately took to some serious exercise to maintain this state of perfection and has been in front of the seven times magnifying mirror ever since.
‘Why?’ I hear you chorus as one, Dear Reader, ‘would you want to exercise in front of your make-up mirror.’
Let me explain…
Having hastily shoved away One’s heartrending farewell notes/last will and testament/instructions for the sale of unfinished masterpieces etc., One shall resume the rest of One’s life forthwith.
And, since upon the hour of One’s birthday, One decided to spend the remainder of One’s life snogging the A of the F, One’s lips (that have been quivering of late) need some serious aerobic puckering practise.
Thus far One is developing perfect puckerage and a suck so powerful that One could remove the fag from the A of the F’s gob from the foot of our stairs!
AND, do you know what, Dear Reader, One probably shall!