The Barbican. We went there on Saturday. One driven across the moor to admire the scenery by the wonderful A of the F, who really is the most fabulous man. For a vocally reticent cove, his actions are those of one who rather likes One.
So, here is One back in Wivey on the dreaded Monday, and yes, a double blog day.
Just for One, this one as One can’t seem to shake the awful low feeling with yet another week of displacement, nowhere to belong and general unpleasantness stretching out afore One.
No, no, Dear Reader, One isn’t depressed. One isn’t yearning in the manner of a fourteen year old, for the A of the F (though One obv would wish him with me) One is displaced in the grand scheme of things.
One has no home to call One’s own. ‘Tis a strange and disturbing feeling in the extreme.
Tomorrow One will be chipper and ready to face whatever is thrust afore One, as One always is when Tuesday comes along. So why is Monday such a god awful, stomach knotting, little-bit-of-sick day?
One would cheerfully trade a not to often used limb for a bit of stability and security, One would.
It’s a scary place to live, my life. But, One shall be escaping on Thursday this week to thrash out a masterpiece.
Shame it won’t be Wednesday though, since One is required to vacate the premises for the day. Oh well, maybe take a little exploratory mission to the Citizens Advice Bureau. After all One is rather old, maybe a nice over fifties bung is out there awaiting One’s occupation.