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Friday, 1 May 2015

In which One is moist and mucussy…

sick

That’s us that is, me’n’im, Dear Reader (see above)  both suffering equally and together…

We are soooo close that we even get sick at the same time.

Of course, One is bearing One’s burden with fortitude and wearing a beatific smile, but the Admiral, who’s suffering is done on a more voluble basis, is gallumphing about the gaff groaning like a stuck pig.

One may be slightly more chipper than the Admiral since One was awoken by a sight for sore eyes:  A naked Admiral, apart from a pair of Poundland spectacles, proffering a plastic spoonful of Benylin Mucus Cough.

Mucus is such an unacceptable word, isn’t it Dear Reader, as is moist. Both words when included in a sentence that reaches One’s delicate shell like ears are liable to result in One doing a tiny bit of sick.

Any road up, here we are in the Chippendale Sleigh Bed, ‘neath the satin sheets all moist and mucussy, snotting our way through a truck load of Kleenex.

 

 

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