Word on the street is that One is ‘too posh to do pooh.’
One gained this information following a flying visit to the Pinkster who gets weirder and weirder each time we meet.
One couldn’t help but notice a large structure made of mud in the sitting room of Pinkster Towers, see above.
‘it’s a rocket stove,’ said she, ‘It heats the whole house and does the cooking.’
‘Mmmmmm, weird, as One opined earlier.
Any road up, One digresses, One is apparently too posh to clear up pooh and the rest of One’s new workmates are poised for One to vacate the premises sharpish.
Sadly, One can’t oblige and shall be elbow deep in merd for the foreseeable.
One has poshed up throughout One’s life journey from a Council house in Luton, but One is on the downward trajectory and One is sanguine at the thought.
The Admiral of the Fleet will be winging his way to a 60ft yacht in Croatia with another five stinky retired policemen, as we speak and One spent his first night away under the same roof as another man…
Not in the biblical sense, you understand, Dear Reader, but One has a new housemate at long last.
A charming chap, young enough to be the son of One, so One has someone to look after in the absence of the A of the F.
Man stuff has appeared in the bathroom. Apart from that there’s been no change in the Underground Lair, but watch this space…
Off to do two twelve and a half hour shifts this weekend – whoopee!
After that, a two day course in Non Violent Crisis Intervention.
What’s the point, Dear Reader, because as you know, One has never encountered a situation that violence couldn’t solve.