‘We have made an appointment for you at two fifty on Friday’, came the instruction from the hosp.
‘Flippin’ ‘eck,’ thinks One, they might as well have hired a charabanc (see above) and invited David bleedin’ Bailey and Cecil Beaton up there with their box Brownies, fer fecks sake.
Roll up, roll up, Dear Reader, and get your ticket for the magical mystery tour of the womb of doom. Bring yer polaroid swingers, belt out a couple of choruses of ‘I’ll be up your flue in a minute or two,’ and we’re off…
They must have liked it up there, because now they want yet another fecking trip!
I’ve got an excellent idea…
When you were up there in the first fecking place, why not do all you’ve got to and let One get on with what’s left of One’s sojourn on planet earth, having a high old time with the A of the F.
Any road up, One will be there, legs akimbo, yet again with a team of students perusing me pudenda.
‘What have you to say in your defence?’ enquired One of Vile ex Husband when One finally caught up with him regarding his no-show on removal day.
‘I completely forgot. I was at D’s (she’s not as good looking as One, by the way OBV) I’ve had an upset tummy for a couple of days.’
HA HA methinks the new object of desire must be a serial killing poisoner. AND she wants Boy over there with Vile ex Husband to celebrate the New Year.
‘I liked him, he’s alright,’ came Boy’s opinion of the A of the F having met him on Christmas Day.
When One was ordered to the galley to make sausage rolls One heard Boy say to the A…
‘Blimey! I wasn’t expecting to have a conversation about philosophy at Mum’s. She usually only talks about shoes and handbags.’
So – ‘He’s alright,’ as opined by Boy is tantamount to ‘you may marry him forthwith and I shall call him Dear Papa evermore.’
Any road up, I’m off now to seek out a clean pair of shreddies and a catering pack of Femfresh since half of Somerset appear desp to get a shot up me twinkle…
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