That’s me that is, Dear Reader, that Trilby. And that’s the A of the F, that is, that Svengali bloke.
TIS THE ONLY POSSIBLE EXPLANATION OF HIS ASTONISHING POWERS OVER LOVELY ONE
‘I think he’s met his match with you!’ opined BF1 on our second visit to their gaff.
One was obv showing off and playing to the crowd.
HA! if only they knew the erstwhile thuggish Lovely One is mere putty in his hands…
And what lovely, divine hands they are, Dear Reader…
‘the very thought of you, and One forgets to do, the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do,’….bla bla fecking bla…
Any road up, EXPLAIN TO ONE IF YOU CAN, Dear Reader, exactly how did he get One to purchase, and indeed wear, Walking fecking boots?
And then, to put the tin hat on it, Darlings, he had One in agreement to go beating for a shoot, not to mention the threat of body-boarding, whatever the feck that is!
Fortunately fate has intervened and decreed that this weekend will be dry, warm and sunny, so One’s off the hookette for the week at least in favour of shearing to the Barbican to be schmoozed in galleries various, take pics and scoff lobster.
‘You needn’t think I’m falling all over you and treating you like Lady Rice,’ came the threat from the A when he’d learnt of One’s legendary status in those parts.
We’ll see about that, mon capitan!
Any road up, it might not actually be the hypnotic power of the ice-blue eyes gazing deep into One’s soul. It could be the application of seventeen vodka and tonics that gets One agreeing to all these alien activities.
Bonjour to Dear Readers Francais. For the first time in the history of this little record of One’s time on Earth, France has more readers than the USA. Who are vous? Do tell!