Google+ Followers

Follow by Email

Wednesday, 17 December 2014

In which One tears out One’s hair…

hair

That’s me, that is, Dear Reader…

Not that One actually needs to tear out One’s glorious (natural) blonde, satin smooth, silky tresses.  Oh no, the feckers are coming out in sodding handfuls at the mo with the stress of One’s current swathe of insurmountable predicaments.

What the feck is it with One?  One biffs about minding One’s own bees-tiddly-wax and a veritable maelstrom of chaos and carnage buffets about up me gusset.

One won’t bore you with the details, Dear Reader, as One’s probably bored the tits clean off the lot of you over the years with One’s tales of derring-do and disaster…

Suffice it to say that One shall be rather chuffed in the little mintball department to see the arse end of this year and all it’s current woes.

BUT, it has to be said the year has delivered, in the shape of the A of the F, the most delightful, delectable, de-lovely, Detective Chief Inspector One has ever been inspected by…

 

No comments: