September 18, 2011 § 5 Comments
It has to be said, the poppy seed (cf. yesterday’s post) is an unpromising prospect in so many ways. The warning signs are all there – wife, divorce, mistress: mind-blowing Muddle – and I am fully in agreement with the protective commentators amongst you who have given him the big thumbs-down before he has so much as become a twinkle in my eye, and tell me that I need him – I paraphrase – like a kick in the tits with a hobnail boot. You are spot on, of course. I know I may seem desperate but I am not completely stupid. It helps, though, to have been warned because sometimes desperation can get the better of one, so thank you.
There again, this is a dilemma which is purely imaginary because his telephone call has not materialised. And with each hour that goes by, existing twinkles rapidly fading, and not one to take their decidedly quick-sandy place, I am clearly going to have to book that mother of all walks in the Himalayas (cf. Go On A Course, Why Don’t You?) Though, to be honest, I’d rather shovel kindling up my nostrils.