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Monday, 8 August 2016

In which One abdicated...

One was just sauntering down to the Shit Face to abdicate when One encountered a pair of sorts viewing some type on a digger excavating waste ground next the Underground Lair with a view to whacking up a rake of dez rezzes for incoming Polacks who wipe arse for the minimum wage.

'Who's responsible for this road?' enquired a soft.
'Well,' said One 'it's a private road, owned by The Malthouse shareholders and you're standing on my bit.'
They never laughed. There just aren't many funny women abroad are there, Dear Reader?

Any road up, One expects you're curious as to why One is shearing from The Shit Face, Dear Reader.
They've had their pound of flesh from One!
Quite literally, in fact, under the fingernails of yesterday's charge, who saw fit to claw lumps out of me decolletage and rip me favourite frock off me.
That put the tin hat on it and I'm off!
Especially since One got five minutes outside to recover and the perpetrator got a trip to the seaside.
Go figure!

One was on the cusp of organising a viewage of a shiny new Motability vehicle that had appeared in the car park at the Shit Face.
After all it'll be the only fecking time we get to see it, or any of the others owned by the residents yet driven by their parents.
These cars are handed out, at the expense of the taxpayer, for the transport of our delicious charges to their lunch dates, shopping trips and visits to their families.
What a joke! If they see the inside of 'em more than once in a blue moon I'll mange me chapeau.
Instead we ferry them to and fro in a fleet of urine soaked busses

We must be an inordinately wealthy country,  must we not Dear Reader, but seemingly not quite wealthy enough to pay care workers a decent wage.


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