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Sunday, 5 April 2015

In which One is eggless again...

What to do first...
Scrape the mould off the bedroom wall or nip out into the grounds and start the Easter Egg hunt.
Or, perchance, vacuum the hot cross bunnage crumbs off the bed.
Himself is deep into a game of sudoku and won't even give me a single clue as to the whereabouts in the vast grounds he has deposited One's Faberge egg.
One is obv deluding Oneself as the master chocolatiers at Lindt didn't make a chocolate bunny with One's name on it.
What a drag it is growing old.
Too old for Valentine's...
Too old for Easter Eggs...
Sadly just the right age for ironing and cooking the leg of a tiny baby lamb that was gambolling around the field opposite the pub, where yesterday One partook of a few beakers of cloudy cider.
We biffed off to the sea to take some pics but forgot to put the battery in the camera, so went to the pub instead.
A delightful little establishment, sadly with all the atmosphere of Napoleons tomb.

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