‘Deck the halls with Hubbster’s bollicks, fa la la la fecking la’
And so, Dear Reader, me and the A of the F slipped and slid back to Wivey at some ungodly hour (with him moaning about One’s directions and pointing out that his route would have been both quicker and more sensible)
As previously arranged with Vile ex Husband, One arrived with the Wivey Man with a Van at his gaff to collect One’s fablious antique furniture and splendid Persian rug, and, guess what, THE FECKER WASN’T IN
AND HE WONDERS WHY ONE LEFT HIM.
HE HAD THE EXTREME GOOD FORTUNE TO BE MARRIED TO ONE FOR TWENTY MINUTES SOME MOONS AGO AND YET HE STILL FAILS TO FOLLOW EVEN THE SIMPLEST OF INSTRUCTION.
Fortunately, the ‘man with the van’ is a regular employee of One, given the frequency with which One bolts in directions various, and so he didn’t bat an eyelid, didn’t charge One extra and even offered One a monthly charge plan to facilitate One’s frequent changes of address.
The remainder of One’s possessions were acquired from the Bung of Doom and One sincerely hopes never to cross the path of the SSS ever again.
One is never, ever, ever going to help anyone ever again! Anyway, BF will punch me in the gob if I attempt so to do.
In fact, One has finally accepted that One is a right looking eejit of the highest order.
And with that thought I’m off outside with a catering pack of fags and a bucket of wine.