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Tuesday, 26 May 2015

In which One is too cheerful for the grumpy old A...

'For goodness sake SHUT UP' said the A of the F as One was effusing 're: The Meemster's fiftieth birthday bash that we'd just been invited to.
A Gatsby party - how thrilling!
Better dash home forthwith and shut BF in the shed to sew sequins on me best Norman Hartnell flapper frock.
Yesterday we valiantly attempted to join in some sort of Bank Holiday doings and failed miserably...
Coombe Martin were collectively attempting to capture The Earl of Rone, chase him with a Hobby Horse, shoot him, biff him off his horse and Chuck him in the sea, due to some ancient misdemeanor.
Trouble is: we got there at half past four, having been informed on the sparsely informative website, that villagers were gathering at the top of the High Street at five.
Mmmm, thought us, we'll get a vantage point at the pub, thereby viewing the doings with a pint or three.
Overhearing a villager informing a grockle that 'We don't chuck him in until about nine' our eyes met, 'We're not sitting here braving Hurricane Herbert' says we, as one and cleared off to find something else of no cost to do.
Happening on The Museum of Coombe Martin, we dashed inside.
'Are you senior citizens?' enquired the fat bint on the desk.
'No we're fecking not!' Screeched One as One wrestled her to the ground.
'That'll be two quid each then' said she spitting molars all over the shop.
This little escapade followed an aborted mission to Braunton Fair that consisted of a bouncy castle and a donkey that looked like it needed to urgently retire to Sidmouth Sanctuary and a car boot sale that we went to at eleven that didn't start til one.
Feeling crestfallen, we repaired to the local and it was SHUT.
By the time The Earl of Rone was being hurled into the briny, we were abed with our Ovaltine.

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