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Sunday, 1 February 2015

In which One is dinged...

'Let's go for a walk', said One, 'I'm feeling a little more chipper today.'
'Alright, my love, my treasure, oh star of the eastern hemisphere,' replied the A of the F.
He's most attentive to One at the mo, Dear Reader, given all of One's ailments etc.
One Ugged up and deployed the fur hat and coat against the elements.
We biffed off to Ilfracombe and parked in the shadow of Verity.
Rain and seaspray lashed the little red ve-hickle to the extent that One was reluctant in the extreme to disembark.
'Well I'm getting out' said the intrepid A, 'look at that sea!'
'I'll observe from within' countered One, recalling the last time One's furs got a soaking and the resulting 'damp, steaming dog' aroma that exuded from One in the baked goods aisle in Tesco.
Not caring to admit One was correct regarding the weather, the A of the F remained harbourside being buffeted and lashed by the cruel sea until he was moist in the extreme all the way down to his lush little trollies.
'Let's go to Barnstaple and buy some collapsible boxes and dried fruit' said he as he slithered back inside dripping all over me Kelly bag.
'Get on!' said One envisiging a retail therapy experience, only to have One's hopes dashed when we fronted up at a 'cheap stuff' emporium.
The A of the F, being an aquirer of super-floo-us stuff, in the manner of BF, purchased aforementioned collapsible boxes, a meat tenderiser a positively repugnant cruet set, four balls of puce wool and a bell, not dissimilar to those that summon receptionists in hotels.
He now finds it exceptionally amusing to ding his bell for service each time One leaves the room.
One wonders if he'll find it all quite so amusing when One finally snaps and the meat tenderiser makes contact with his gonads.

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