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Thursday, 11 May 2017

In which I'm awaiting a big bang...

Four gruelling, miserable days executed at SOP House...

So now three days off, the first of which will be spent reclining in the truckle bed with a hot stuffed down me jimjam bottoms.

Currently, however, I'm installed on the second hand sofa feeling the explosive effects of having just imbibed a spoonful of bicarbonate of soda mixed with fizzy water to alleviate the curse of the elderly: heartburn.

'How so?' One hears you enquire, Dear Reader, knowing One is a religious follower of a macrobiotic diet in the manner of my hero, Gwyneth Paltrow.

I like to worship my body by nourishing it with wheatgrass smoothies whilst undergoing hot stone back massages, after I've spent the day running up and down endless corridors that are so nauseatingly pungent they fair take One's breath away.

And thus it was that yester-eve I biffed, exhausted into the hallway of the Underground Lair, clutching a sufficiency of organic ingredients to fashion health enhancing green smoothie.

A wall of fumes greeted One.
'Oh fer fecks sake,' cursed I, 'tis as if the Ancient Mariner were ensconced in the galley boiling up a skillet-full of slurrey that he calls cottage pie.'

And lo, with the assistance of his miniscule Thai nurse, who had snuck in through the open bedroom window, he was indeed boiling up a storm.

Beaming at me through the steam, his solitary tooth glinting in the moonlight, he proudly announced that I had no need to cook my supper as he had done it.

Now, we have traversed this path before: me gently explaining the art of browning mince, frying onion, seasoning etc etc.

To no avail. Even the sainted Jean of Arc's advice fell on deaf ears.

Anyway, not wishing to offend, I gamely inhaled the foodstuff.

And hence, here I am blown up like the fecking R101, awaiting the Bicarb Bang.

Should this pattern of behaviour continue I foresee a 'Concious Uncoupling' in the cards.

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