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Tuesday, 16 August 2016

In which you, Dear Reader, must ask the universe...

That's me, that is, Dear Reader...

Finally the old ve-hicle has died.  Obv One had no fecking idea what to do, so leant against the thing, trying not to attract too much attention to Oneself, until help arrived.

One had just delivered the Admiral to his bowling club, with his super-charged bath chair in the boot, when the bastard clutch decided to shag itself, leaving One stranded in fecking Wellington on a Sunday afternoon...

With brute force One managed to slam the fecker into third and, without stopping, (feck knows what One would have done if anything had been around each bend) got back to the Underground Lair, parked the bastard, kicked it and had a large glass of lighter fluid in the back garden.

Now I'm just off down the tip
to throw me whole life in a skip...

Or, I was, until, purely by chance, One happened upon One's spiritual home...

One, having had enough of being used as a human punch bag, accepted a job arse-wiping in the community.  For once in One's mis exis, by a stroke of good fortune, the job included use of a company ve-hicle, so no requirement to fix the four hundred year old Volvo, (not that One has the cash so to do)
Not actually looking forward to it though...
getting up at five every day to wipe arse for the minimum wage - yet - a - bleedin' - gain!

When....
One espied an ad for a 'life-skills' tutor  to the challenged.

THAT'S ME THAT IS, DEAR READER.  I CAN DO THAT!

Yesterday One went for a visit and, lo, One's spiritual home.

Formal interview - Friday

All join hands and ask the universe for One's every whim!



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