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Saturday, 11 February 2017

In which a life of glamour clamours...

Flicking through another's Country Living magazine (I can't afford such luxuries) I happened upon an advertisement for 'birdwatching lessons.'
How awfully odd!
Surely the instruction: 'find bird. Watch it,' should suffice.
No matter. One is a pretend country person anyway. What do I know?

Another oddity was a 'wife carrying' competition. The first prize: a firkin of fortified wine and a prize for the last in race of a 'can of celebration dog food.'

Neither pursuit is of interest to moi, since One has no husband (the Admiral, even in the peak of condition, or the first flush of youth could narry carry a biffer of my gargantuan proportions) and there are no birds to watch in the grounds of the Underground Lair since the arrival of Son of Tigerboy.

It would appear that even though One is practically a pensioner, One's stock has gone up, since the two interviews One has attended have both resulted in offers of gainful employ.

Sadly, the decision will be based entirely upon the place of work's proximity to an omnibus pick up point.

Oh the glamour of it all.

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