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Wednesday, 29 April 2015

In which One ‘weights’ for the Admiral…

adonis

So, One hung up One’s lion-tamer chair in the staff-room, fired up the Ferrari and mosied off over the moor into the arms of the bronzed Adonis (see above)

‘Weight?’ said he, as we traipsed around Tesco, so dutifully One waited…

‘You daft tart!’ said he as One stood their awaiting further instruction, clutching me bag of dried mixed fruit…

You’ve got to admit, Dear Reader, that ‘weight’ sounds very much like ‘wait’ and One, being an obliging sort doesn’t question the orders of the Admiral, but merely carries them out as readily as One can.

Let me explain, Dear Reader…

‘I feel a cake coming on,’ said he as One was pointed to the ‘home baking’ aisle…

‘Twas a mo or two before One caught up and replied ‘500g’ but by then he’d launched into a voluble tirade of abuse aimed at the gormless One, to the disgust of housewives various as they pushed their trollies laden with Turkey Twizzlers and sliced white…

‘Oooh that poor girl,’ tutted the passers by, ‘I bet she has a helluva life with that brute,’ as they shuffled off to their, vested-up Onslow’s sat at home in front of the football.

Of course in the comfort of One’s home, he is a veritable pussy-cat, but you know what they’re like, Dear Reader, they put on a show for the outside world.

                                          ~

Today One is aching from head to toe…

Re-landscaping the grounds was possibly not the most sensible use of One’s day off from tearing up and down the stairs chasing naked men.

Wonder if One could get them to fit a Stannah Stair Lift?

 

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