Masses and masses of stuff to worry about this week, Dear Reader. What shall One devote One’s angst to first?
I know, let’s forget the fecking lot of it and have a lovely time instead!
After all, One has such divine things happening in One’s life that anything horrid is merely batted away like a troublesome gnat.
Painted toenails featured rather highly on the weekend’s agenda, see above.
‘Long painted toenails and serious walking whilst wearing walking boots don’t go together,’ lectured the A of the F as he strode into the distance, hopping over crevices various like a young gazelle.
‘Well, I’ve still got me summer feet on,’ answered One, in One’s defence as One ‘oohed and aaahed and ouched’ One’s merry way.
‘Cut them by next weekend if we’re serious about getting fit,’ barked the blighter, by return.
Now, Darlings, One has lots of ‘issues’ to be addressed in One’s bohemian life at the mo, but One hadn’t foreseen anything as ghastly as the removal of One’s beautifully polished toenails. (Not in their entirety, of course.)
Any road up, ‘women’s issues’ loom large over One. What an absolute bore/snore/bore. One is a vile and demanding patient, so let’s hope, for the sake of the medical profession there’s nothing to detain one in a hospital bed.
According to an interested bystander, ‘the seriousness has diminished following one tour of duty up the twinkle with no enemies found behind the lines.’
Huh, wouldn’t say that if you were getting a Box Brownie up the chuff box, would you?!
‘Hello Lovely One. How are you?’ enquire passers by in Wiv.
‘I am jolly fine,’ Lovely One always replies (being British, unless one has a limb hanging on by a tendon, this is the stock answer)
But then One recalls that One writes it all down for all the world to see…
So now everyone will know the appalling and sad tale of the required removal of the red toenails…