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Wednesday, 18 February 2015

In which One thanks Joseph Shivers…

my arse one

Upon awakening, on One’s own, (I hate that) One espied, on Google, that it’s the anniversary of the birth of Alessandro Volta, the inventor of the battery.

‘Volta’ – what a brilliant name for the inventor of the battery!  What came first the Volta or the battery?  One knows not since there is another inventor who is lionised in the life of One…

Any road up, good old Alessandra made it possible for One to have a transistor radio when One was six years old, thereby beginning One’s life-long love affair with the wireless.

The little transistor radio met an untimely end in a puddle outside Nanna Harris’s front door when One was rescuing One’s, soon to be pet, sparrow Harold Warrender.

Harold Warrender lived in a Quality Street tin lined with cotton wool, secure behind the fireguard on the kitchen table, away from the life-threatening danger of Kitty, Aged P’s cat.

As I’m sure I’ve told you before, Dear Reader, One skipped into the kitchen one sunny morning and the Father, standing next to the open window, informed One that Harold had flown away.

Obv., Harold had died (as One finally twigged at the age of twenty-seven) as did Bugs the rabbit who hadn’t actually bitten his way through the side of his hutch.

In fact, One was never informed of the deaths of any of One’s menagerie. 

One can but hope that on the morrow, should One not survive the Fanny-Ferckling fiasco, that a kindly surgeon tells the A of the F that One flew out of the hospital window, thereby lessening the pain of losing his lady-love.

Anyway, One does digress, back to the favoured inventor…

Joseph Shivers.  That is he.  The inventor of Lycra.  (My arse – see above)

‘Twas it not for he, One would be flolloping hither and thither in the thigh/bottom department and, indeed, the bit just above the waist where all the excess thigh/bottom gets shoved.

Yet another marvlious invention has been discovered on a weekend trip to Tesco…

The bum/tum/thigh shaper tights.  It’s like being in a vice once One has struggled into the device.  Fortunately the gussetage is v generous to allow for slight leg movement in order to perambulate about.

Any road up, ‘tis he who gets One’s eternal gratitude today.

Tomorrow, sans lycra, the A of the F will deliver One to One’s fate.

Should One shuffle off this mortal coil, One has instructed the A of the F to inform you, Dear Reader, in order that you may all take a moment to reflect upon the life of Lovely One.

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