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Monday, 25 July 2016

In which One shall be pulling pork...

Five 8.30pm finishes in a row...
Eleven days before I get 2 days off together...

But what's not to love?

Anyway a 'treat' is shimmering on the horizon...
A night out at the bowling club for a 'pulled pork' supper.
Oh let joy be unconfined.
A load of boring old farts 'pulling their pork' with their lovely wives in tow having scintillating conversations about meringue making or shirt washing.

'There'll be music,' whistled the Admiral, through his new teeth.
'Whoop-de-fecking-do,' thought One, 'just what One needs after a grueling day at the Shit-Face.'

One did spend a couple of hours of One's life watching the mind-numbingly boring game of Big Marbles (another few hours of me life I'll never get back) and the only sound to break the stillness was that of a deceased nonagenarian hitting the turf in that dull thud of death.
No more playing with his big marbles or, indeed, pulling his pork.

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