Apropos of nothing, Dear Reader, here’s a picture of Salcombe where One briefly resided a couple of winters ago.
Now, to One’s eternal surprise, One is unhappily ensconced in the Underground Lair. One is lonely of the company of a cat.
Can’t even be bothered to regain One’s superb collection of eclectic antiquities back from Vile ex Husband.
What’s up? Who knows. One feels displaced in the extreme and has the distinct feeling that One has wandered inadvertently into someone else’s life.
Was happy as a pig in poop all weekend despite our ailments various, but am having a degree of difficulty re-joining the workplace.
All will be well in time, One knows, as One is, and has had to be adaptable in One’s chequered life.
I know, I know, Dear Reader, we all have our crosses to bear, but One is definitely getting into a Good Friday frame of mind re: cross bearing.
No matter, One shall biff on regardless and tend to the needy with a smile on me gob and look forward to the weekend when One shall be liberally coating Oneself with Cadbury’s Creme Egg filling and luring the A of the F into the boudoir.
Trouble is, it’ll probably look so yummsville, I’ll eat it all before he creaks out of the elderly gentleman’s moss green velour recliner and struggles into his nightshirt and cap.