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Monday, 22 December 2014

In which One is chesty...

The fags and wine have got to go.
Not only can One not afford such ridiculously expensive pastimes, but One has developed a deep chesty hacking cough worthy of a user of 40 Senior Service per day.
The remains of the A of the F' s man flu has settled down for the winter on One's chest.
As you know, Dear Reader, with the generous proportions of One's chest to adhere to, any ailment could prove fatal.
Any road up, One shall be meandering toward The Underground Lair on the morrow to make ready the festive season and shall be welcoming the A of the F into One's natural environment for the first time.
How shall he react to the ways of the One?
There is no moss green velour elderly gentleman's recliner for him to snuggle down into.
Shall he find sufficient comfort in the Louis Cans settle?
As far as One is aware, football isn't on girl's T. V' s at all. Will this test the blossoming love story?
Will he develop a liking for the boxed sets of Bewitched? (One's absolute fave)
Shall he follow the 'No bare bottoms on the antique throw' rule?
Will One be forced to embark upon a training programme the like of the one Vile ex Husband failed miserably afore he fled screaming into the arms of the Snaggle Toothed Troll?
Who can tell, Dear Reader.
One shall warmly embrace the blighter neath the mistletoe on the portcullis and issue him with the Underground Lair do' s and don't's dossier upon his arrival.
We may then repair to the truckle bed until spring creeps over me window sill.

1 comment:

Neil Stone said...

Have you bought him a miners lamp yet, or is it the old "feel your way around"?