With the A of the F suffering from Man Flu and the weather inclement, we opted for a pootle off to the seaside instead of a seventy three mile hike up the Matterhorn.
Obv., One had recovered from One’s brief sojourn of major illness caused by the shock of an entire week’s work.
The Admiral, as you know Dear Reader, looks after One in the manner of a mother hen, but woe betide should One enquire as to his wellbeing. In fact One was put firmly in One’s place following the enquiry…
‘Are you sure you’re Ok?’
One had only enquired upon the subject a mere three thousand and twenty six times preceding and been met with the reply…
‘I’ve only got a cold. Shit happens.’
As you are aware, Dear Reader, when One has given birth to another human, One has to enquire about subjects various until One gets the reply One requires.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘Not even a piece of toast?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘What about a sandwich?’
‘I’m having one, it’s no trouble.’
‘What part of NO do you not understand?’
‘Fer Feck’s sake woman, I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO EAT.’
And so it was thus with the health and wellbeing enquiry.
The A of the F may be exasperated with One, but One’s Aged Mama would be proud in the extreme!