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Thursday, 1 June 2017

In which am obsessed...

That's me, that is, Dear Reader, looking over the garden wall to see if the grass is greener on the other side...

I expect it is...

Have now got fourteen weeks exactly until become sixty.  Have resolved to live a Pinot and fag free existence at least until then.

Sitting alone on the second hand sofa quaffing Pinot of an evening isn't doing it for me anymore.  Granted, working in care does rather render one a drink swilling, fag smoking sort, just as a means of survival from day to ghastly day, but, before it's too late, change must come.

Have been on hols, at home, this week, but am just lolling around kipping me life away.

I just can't come to terms with Buttgate. I wish I could, but it's all so unjust, what with the water still dripping down the back wall. AND. Have just been informed that my nemesis actually owns the flat that it's dripping from.

There she sits using our money for her own personal vendettas and there's not a thing I can do about it.

Get over it. Get a life. Or get even some other way.

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