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Sunday, 10 May 2015

In which One is a tiny bit of pooh stuck on the Admiral' s bum...

Following One's saunter around Sainsburys yesterday, One's gone all up market. You see, Dear Reader, One actually had a trolley instead of a basket for the week's victuals.
Not one of them normous ones, merely the shallow variety, but, nonetheless A TROLLEY.
'Have you won the lottery?' I hear you enquire, Dear Reader.
No, sadly not, but One was in possession of  seventy five quid BT voucher  as a gift for signing up for their outrageously expensive broadband.
No 'marked down' scoff for One this week.
Next week, however, austerity shall resume, especially since One can't seem to hang on to a lodging male even.
What is it with One and the male of the species?
The A of the F appears to be able to tolerate One, but then he did inform One very early on that he believed the best one could aspire to, partner-wise,  was someone you got on with and who didn't go into a massive sulk following a disagreement.
One always yearned for a little more than that, say, life long adoration with as many fish finger sandwiches as One could eat.
No matter, the non- committal cove does appear to be a keeper.
So, now One is all posh, what with me trolley full of Sainsbury food, One has decreed that we are now an official celebrity couple in the manner of Branjelina.
Henceforth, we shall be known as Clartin.
A tad unfortunate, however, Dear Reader, since according to Nanny Cooper, a 'clart' was a tiny bit of pooh stuck on one's bum.

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