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Wednesday, 11 January 2017

In which One is getting the bus...

Have totally shagged back...

Could it be lugging crates of beer/wine/cider up the winding stairs? Or is it when One hurled the defunct Chrimbo Tree through the French doors to await nudification of pine needles (not that the bastard hadn't shed most of them on me rug) that has rendered One a shuffling Bison.

Anyway, whatever it is, One is well and truly bogged off with listing to starboard.

Perhaps a more sedate way of earning a crust should be sought. After all One is rather elderly now.

Haven't seen Boy for ages, the Admiral is bed bound in the home for bewildered jolly tars, I haven't got a cat, I don't smoke and I can't afford to drink myself to death.

What is there left, Dear Reader, but to hurtle Oneself off Beachy Head? But I haven't got a car so I'll have to get the bus...

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