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Wednesday, 22 June 2016

In which One is indisposed...

Huh! Here's One languishing in me truckle bed that's v fortunately adjacent to toiley boiley, and that flamin' loud-mouthed bint that's just moved in over the back starts up.
I have no interest whatever that..... 'ooooh look Roger, there's a red hot poker coming up here.'
I don't give a rat's fat where it's coming up but I can tell you where it'll be going if you don't shut yer yak.
And I'm willing to bet the occupants of the other fifteen flats can't give a shite either.

I tell you, Dear Reader, it used to be so quiet up here that you you could hear me clematis being nibbled.

Not no more!  I'd never given much thought to the anal couple (he had a pop up barrier at the end of his driveway) who resided quietly in the coach house.

They'd cocked a snook at One and One's male companions various over the years, but then One has run the gamut of reputation from Lolita to Elsie Tanner over the passage of time.

But, you never heard a peep out of the blighters. Then the selfish bastards moved and in slid Gobby Gertrude and the long suffering Roger.

They've obv come from the sale of some ghastly 'right to buy' sarf lundun council flat as each weekend we're invaded by inappropriately dressed for the country types who all take tea in the garden and are enthralled by GG who has discovered a hole in her head that she has to use all fecking day long.

Any brief interlude of silence has to be filled by a shrill squawk of exciting information regarding the doings of the hollering banshee.

So, here's One, head in bucket, listening to the boring bint yet again.

Pray for rain, Dear Reader. Pray for rain...

1 comment:

Michael said...

Goddamn you crack me up, even if I don't understand half of what I'm reading. The attitude comes through like a fucking lighthouse beam and it is wonderful. Never stop being you.