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Tuesday, 14 April 2015

In which we go to Lynmouth…


So, there you have it Dear Reader, One is awake and unable to settle in the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep…

(you lie awake and dream about the girl and never,ever think of counting sheep) Frank Sinatra

‘Where would you like to go?’ enquired the A of the F as he sat there in the passenger seat of the Ferrari looking positively divine.

‘Lynmouth,’ says One (see above) and so that’s where we went.

With the addition of a quart of oil the ve-hicle had stopped emitting the self-same aroma as pervades the galley when the oven door is open, so we took to the winding lanes of Deepest Devon and enjoyed the spring sunshine.

All the holiday shops are open and spilling their ‘must-have’ wares onto the pavements thronged with sensibly dressed, back-pack wearing persons from foreign climes and the indigenous population shivering in their Matalan ‘three vests for a fiver’ and their flip-flops, airing their hairy toes and veruccas.

We tagged on to a party of schoolchildren and enjoyed a film of ‘Exmoor from the Air’ in the local museum, where we were reminded to ‘look with your eyes and not your fingers’ and where the A of the F really entered into the spirit of the thing by demanding to ‘go toilet’ as soon as the lights went down.

Settling down to scoff the remains of yesterday’s pie of the Sheep Herd and moan about the rubbish on TV, we were interrupted by the house phone…

‘there’s something wrong with Claire’s phone,’ said Aged Mother to the A of the F, ‘what shall I do? Can you find out where she is, shall I put the phone down?’

‘She’s sitting next to me’ he replied and handed me the device…

‘I’ve just been down Debenhams and they wanted my pin number for a short-handled handbag.  Well, I don’t bloody know what it is.  I had to go all the way up the station to get the bus and I’m not doing that again.  John took me and Delphine down there and then picked us up and her knee is really bad now.  The bloke who charges twenty pounds to do the grass only cut a few twigs off the Forsythia and wanted to use my toilet – cheek!  You don’t get enough gravy in the Ewe and Lamb and you can’t get anything normal in Lidls.  I don’t want Parma-bleedin-ham and if I can’t another one of those short sleeved cardigans you got me I shan’t be able to go out at all.  Anyway, by the time Eastenders is finished and bloody Eileen’s had three wees in Tesco, that’ll be after ten o’clock when they bring me my shopping…’


‘Blimey,’ says One, ‘I might get like that.’

‘What do you mean, get like that,’ replied the A.

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