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Wednesday, 17 December 2014

In which One is a great warrior Queen…

warrior two

That’s One, that is, Dear Reader,

Atilla the Hunny

great warrior Queen, resplendent with me hoooj thighs…

Any road up, One has just such a great warrior spirit as the fiery-haired, ginger girly warrior queens of yore. 

In fact, if One leaves One’s ‘L’oreal Ash Blonde’ on a tad too long, One too is a ginger for the passing of a brace of moons.

‘It came to me in the night,’ said BF, ‘I was lying there awake and it just came to me.’

‘What?’ enquired a curious One.

‘Well. How to say ‘I love you’, or anything in fact with flags,’ went on she.

And so a morning of Blue Peter type workshops ensued, monitored on a far too frequent basis by BFP, to the point where we were sorely in danger of not being able to sneak up the bottom of the garden for a fag.

When we finally escaped, BF accidentally set fire to the fag-end dump and subsequently to the stick with which she pokes it. Luckily, by this time, BFP had been distracted by daytime tv and we were in the clear.

‘Blimey,’ said One, ‘You’re a bit reckless today!’

‘Actually,’ replied BF ‘I also came to the unavoidable conclusion in the middle of the night that you get yourself into such horrendous scrapes because you are absolutely fearless.  In fact you would have made an excellent extreme sports person, or a soldier, or an astronaut, or a tightrope walker, or a crocodile wrestler etc etc etc.’

‘Hmmmmm’ replied One, ‘Fearless, or very, very stchoopid.’

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