‘Are you reading?’ enquired Lovely One as One sat up in bed and required an ear to take in One’s thoughts that come charging out of One’s gob.
‘There’s a slight clue,’ replied the A of the F, ‘when someone has their reading spectacles on and they are holding an item covered in the printed word directly in front of them, it would occur to most persons that they are indeed – reading.’
‘Oh, shall I stop talking then?’ asked One in a comradely and very sweet (if One may say so Oneself) way.
‘Yes, you twonk!’ countered he, ‘shut the feck up. I must have read the last bit seven times!’
Suitably admonished One repaired to the bog and leapt into the shower.
One, expecting to spend the weekend in the Underground Lair had created some culinary delights with which to tempt the A of the F…
‘It would make more sense if we went back to the Manor for the weekend bla bla bla, work, work, comfy bed bla bla etc.,’ said the A
Quite what is up with the Wood Nymph’s old truckle and the futon shoved together is beyond the comprehension of One, but being an obliging sort, agreed, as long as One is back on Monday to meet the Ecological Vegetarian, pool playing bird. (More on that story later)
Any road up, all is well wherever we are, apart from one tiny (in every sense of the word) problermo, and that is…
BF was due to come and cast her bespectacled beadies over the A of the F as she’s fed up with listening to One blathering on about him and not having a mental picture of his loveliness.
Note to BF – We shall be back sometime on Monday and it would be rude of you not to come up and wish me luck for the twinkle trauma operation, wouldn’t it?
He’s still in bed reading, by the way…