That’s me, that is, Dear Reader, completely cattle-trucked following two back to back twelve and a half hour days…
Am I up to it? Doesn’t look like it, does it Dears.
The final four hour countdown to escape from the House of Fun was the most traumatic involving challenges that very nigh rendered One and One’s co worker locking ourselves into the safety of the kitchen.
What did we do? We soldiered on manfully and tended to the needy right to the end.
One, however was so shagged that One forgot to take One’s Pinot to the Manor.
This is bad in the extreme. No matter how exhausted/shagged/clapped out/kernackered One has ever been, One has never, ever forgotten One’s Pinot catering pack.
The Admiral is also suffering from Croatian Man Flu and is, as we speak, snuggled ‘neath the duvet whilst One does the ironing in preparation for a visit to the child of the Admiral and the children of the child of the Admiral.
No football in the garden for One. If they want to play with Granddad's Girlfriend they’ll have to lay me flat on my back and use me as a bouncy castle.