How lucky is One, Dear Reader, to spend One’s days colouring in?
In fact, One’s life is just like a giant, dot-to-dot colouring book.
Sadly, in the past One has joined up all the dots in completely the wrong order and ended up in a two and eight more times than is prudent to peruse.
However, One is sanguine and chilled in the extreme at the mo and going with the flow.
One is, even though on the cusp of homelessness once again, counting One’s blessings, and One tells ya what, Dear Reader, they’re legion!
Last week was spent doing a big colouring (see above) for some posh coves down the Barbican. The week culminated in a divine day out with the Pinkster.
It doesn’t get much better than that, does it Dear Reader?
This week has been all deliveries, house-breaking, smoking fags, buying walking boots, having lunch cooked for One and BF by BFP…
‘He’s only showing off because you’re here,’ opined BF, but to be fair to the blighter, he made a stonking lunch!
‘BUYING WALKING BOOTS?’ One hears you chorus, ‘WHAT THE FECK’S GOIN’ ON ONE?’
One is going to get fit again. Remember when One used to do two hours of aerobics every day and then go weight training?
No, neither do I, but I did and was a yummy mummy in the extreme when Boy was a boy.
Any road up, me and the A of the F are suitably booted for the moors this autumn/winter so that when we take our geriatric gap year we’ll be toned and muscular and not look like we’re wearing baggy pink shell suits.