‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wassnames’
so sayeth the Good Book.
One cannot comply at the mo, since on a recent visit to BF’s gaff One found her surrounded by a fablious set of ceramic saucepans. A recently acquired ‘love token’ from BFP.
So, Dear Reader, One now has to contend with ‘Saucepan Envy’ as well as One’s never ending list of life traumas.
Let One explain…
In the run up to Christmas it would appear that the nation is hell-bent on acquiring a new sofa (hence all the DFS ads on telly)
In the immediate aftermath of the festive season, ‘Benson’s for Beds’ would have us believe that the road to success is paved with 6ft divans and comfort level ‘3’ mattresses.
No sooner do we sign up for that than we need ‘another ten per cent off our fifty per cent off’ soft close doors, sparkly work-topped kitchens from B&Q
Obv, One is bunged up with envy for all these consumer items as One is seriously deficient in the ‘worldly goods’ department.
One did have a rather magnificent copper pan, with lid, that One polished regularly in the manner of a scullery maid, but, and One knows who you are, you daft sort, a previous tenant saw fit to clean it with a metal scouring device!
Ah well, tis nothing compared to the abuse One’s twinkle appears to have suffered…
The more advanced in years of you, Dear Readers, may recall the ‘Explore your own vagina’ days of the rampant Women’s Libbers who used to sit around with looking glasses between their hairy thighs and ‘fanny ferkle.’
One never held with that sort of ‘dirty’ behaviour and, what with the recreation area being so close to the toilets, One only visited ‘down below’ with a carbolic coated flannel.
‘I can’t do it,’ said the nurse on the third visit to have the womb of doom excavated, ‘you’ll have to come back and let a surgeon have a go. They wack about in there while yer unconscious.’
One never gave it another thought until just now…
Imagine, if you will, Dear Reader, the tent door-flaps that are tied back to gain entry…
Need One say more…
One shall have to deploy the A of the F with his deep-sea diving, waterproof, head-mounted torch.
Unless, of course, he reads this, whereupon One shall find him in the spare room clutching the quilt around his chin, teeth chattering and feigning sleep.