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Sunday, 2 November 2014

In which One doesn't pucker...

Another abs fabs day yesterday.
The A of the F locked One in me makeshift studio in order that One could paint without the distraction of catching a glimpse of his delicious self sashaying back and forth to the printer as he perfected the heron shots.
One rather imagines, however, that he was recumbent in his elderly gentleman's moss green velour recliner watching football and being handsome.
No matter, simply to be within hollering distance of his divine self will suffice to make One positively delerious with glee.
One is, however, seriously considering never puckering up to snog the blighter ever again.
'How so?' One hears you collectively chorus, 'Twas only a fleeting mo ago that you were planning to snog him over the remaining 23 years of your life.' (23 x 52 = oh feck knows)
Suffice it to say, a mere four months of consistent puckering has brought about a new wrinkle on One's top lip.
This cannot continue, lest One begins to lose One's youthful, glowing English rosiness.
Licking probably doesn't require extensive use of the puckering muscleage.
Excuse me....

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