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Saturday, 15 November 2014

In which One knits The Season of Goodwill...

'Don't bite my bum, I'm not a baby' and 'I'm not paying thirty fecking quid to see a fecking knitted Christmas Tree.'
Two sentences One didn't expect to hear upon waking, Dear Reader.
Very likely, two sentences the A of the F didn't foresee ejaculating immediately upon opening his ice blue eyes.
Let me explain...
'Don't bite my bum' requires no further dwelling upon, Darlings, but One feels an urgent need to elucidate further regarding the knitted Christmas Tree.
Tis apparently the highlight of the decoration at Arlington Court, where we are visiting a Christmas Fair today.
It got One thinking...
One feels an urgency to create garments with One's bamboo number sixes.
Last year One began knitting Christmas in August, and all One's chums were the thrilled recipients of such woollen delights as, fingerless mittens, fairisle weskits, socks, scarves and even a knitted companion in the shape of a black and white pussy for Lovely Gordon.
The A of the F, however, shall not be in receipt of even the smallest woolly delight, as he has issued an edict thus...
'I was brought up to the sound of clicking, fecking, knitting needles, and I don't want anything knitted!'
'My needles don't make any sound' replied an indignant One 'they are handmade, designer, bamboo knitting needles.'
He then  threw me one of his looks, leapt from the bed, and wearing nothing but his spectacles, about faced and left the room.
One couldn't help mentally sizing up his delicious bottom with a view to perchance knitting him some seasonal shreddies.

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