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Sunday, 29 March 2015

In which One is chipper again...

One was seriously under the doctor yesterday. There is deffo something in One's place of employment that One is allergic to.
So much so that the A of the F has had to administer first aid in the form of tiny spoonfuls of Bolly and pre masticated Beluga, whilst One has been reclining in the withdrawing room on the Louis Cans.
Sustenance has been totally in the hands of the A, which, as you know, Dear Reader, means only one thing: The proffering of The Pie of the Sheep Herd followed by a catering pack of fruit cake.
It warms One's heart to see the Admiral in the galley wearing nothing but his Delia Smith pinny and his DSO.
God bless him, he does his best, but it's not really a delicate culinary display, it's more a case of the assembled ingredients surrendering.
What is it with men and mince?
The minced up moo cow can begin in any state of plumpcious pinkness, but in the tender care of a bloke it always ends up battle ship grey.
One dragged Oneself into the galley to offer advice, and was dismissed unceremoniously with several expletives. Even his delicious bottom looked indignant as One repaired to a lounger on deck.
Any road up, it seems to have done the trick as One is fair chipper this morning and if he ever stops watching the Grand Prix One shall diddle him to death's door.

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