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Tuesday, 12 July 2016

In which One is full of snot and indignation...

'So, Mother, you've come all the way to Somerset.  Pray tell, where would you like to go?' enquired a sinus-infection ravaged Lovely One.  (Oh joy, oh bliss, One needs to be in tip top condition to survive a week with aged P)

'Marks and Spencer,' replied she.


'Well, I need to get a pair of silky trousers for a 'do' I'm going to next week.'
'Why didn't you get them in Luton then?' enquired an exasperated Lovely One.
'Well, I saw what I wanted about three months ago and didn't get them so I thought I'd get them while I was here,' countered she.
'You won't be able to find something that was on sale three months ago,' volunteered One, 'stock changes all the time.'
'Well I need to get a new nightie and some silky vest tops and some ready meals and do you think they sell coffee?' ploughed on she.

One, having spent a small fortune at the award winning Wivey butchers shop was nonplussed to learn that One's culinary offerings were not up to standard and must be replaced by mass produced ready meals.  As for the coffee: finest filter Espresso obviously doesn't meet with the exacting standards of the irritating old harridan.

So, off we go to the shops...

'Huh, I want sports bras. There's never what I want,' huffed she upon being on the lingerie floor for all of five seconds.
One was rather anxious to enquire as to why an Eighty six year old with a walking stick might require a sports bra, but felt it unwise to ask.
'Well, you've just walked into the shop, why don't you have a look around?  Look,' said One, gesticulating wildly to the numerous racks of brassieres of all shapes and sizes.
'|Huh,' said she, 'there's never an assistant when I want one.'

Anyway, following a lot of huffing and puffing 'sports bras' (feck knows why), nightie and floaty trousers were acquired and off we sped to the food hall for some foul smelling Cumberland Pies that obviously were superior to the free range lamb One had intended to cook.

Upon arrival home she made herself a cup of tea ( I don't put enough milk in) and One was incandescent with rage to see that she had used One's Penguin Classic 'Pursuit of Love' mug.  A very special treat One afforded Oneself and had hidden away in order that no one else used it.

'I am your Mother!,' exploded the matriarch on request that in future a different cup might be used.


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