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Saturday, 3 December 2016

Behind door number three...

Behind door number three...

Is a complete idiot. That's me that is, Dear Reader...

Why did I give up painting? How did I end up being a sixty year old woman working in a sweet shop?

Anyway, with these pertinent questions ringing in me good ear, and having salted away enough money to buy some mounts for 'Storybook Wivey' I hailed the omnibus and limped off to Wellington.

'No, no, no,' said the bloke in the art shop upon One's request for a quote for ivory picture mounts.
'No. You want green,' he ploughed on.
'I don't want green. I always use ivory and that's what I want,' said One through gritted tooth. (I don't grit them too hard these days as I've only got three that aren't loose.)

Eventually the fool realised that One does actually know what One wants and said...
'You only want one then? You don't want backing board as well.'

One actually wanted one hundred and fifty, in lots of ten, but it seemed pointless to pursue the transaction further when the fool quoted seven-fecking-fifty for a single, back-free mount.

Might as well paper the khazi with the 'Storybook Wivey' prints for all the chance One has of affording that.

Ah well, off to sell chocolate and cider to the great unwashed, with just a solitary Turkey Twizzler to look forward to at Christmas.

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