The Return of Wilf

I am writing this whilst Wilf is sleeping in my bed - don't ask my why, but I have just had sexual relations with him.  Let us wind back a few hours to when we first met this morning at 11:30am.  I haven't seen him in quite a few months and I must confess that he looked rather good - he'd lost weight and was wearing a set of clothes which were much trendier than anything I'd ever seen him wear in the past.  He drove me to a nearby country park and we stopped off at the cafe for some refreshment and I noticed how twinkly his green eyes were when juxtaposed with the white light reflecting off of the formica table.  We then took a constitutional around the aforementioned park and Wilf took my arm at various points when we were negotiating an uneven surface.

We then drove back to my flat and I cooked dinner.  It would have been nice to cook Wilf a full Sunday Roast, but there wasn't time, so I fell back on my talents and produced a dish which included chicken breasts, pepper and thyme.  We also drank a bottle of red wine and it slipped down nicely, especially when accompanied by the Bird's Raspberry Trifle I'd made a day previously.  We then sat on the sofa and watched my DVD box set of Ever Decreasing Circles and whilst we were laughing at Howard and Hilda's selection of quirky knitwear, Wilf made his move. 

Readers, I let him and yes, it was consensual.  We then moved towards the bedroom and it was over in a total of eight minutes and twenty four seconds.  It was quite enjoyable and he had a bit of a fumble with my lower regions, but there was nothing he could do to tip me over the orgasmic edge - only a battery powered implement and a signed photograph of Nick Knowles can do that.  Well, usually anyway.

Margaret's sore throat

Firstly, I have no idea why I've decided to title my email in the third person - have I got 'tickets' on myself I wonder?  Maybe.  Anyway, sufficed to say that there's a huge Margaret-sized lump on my sofa caused by me taking the best part of the week off sick with a cold/throat thing.  I suppose that it's seen as a bonus by some that my speech is limited, especially at work which is becoming increasingly silent these days.  Ho hum.

I am putting on weight - give it a few more weeks and I'll be as lardy as Cousin Eleanor and that's never a good thing.  The trouble is that I get addicted to things such as watching Pointless on BBC1 each night (oh how I love Richard Osman!) and the biscuits my friend Emma brought round the other night which she'd bought from Waitrose are simply divine.  I am also very into reading comedians' biographies, despite me not really having much of a sense of humour myself. 

Fifteen minutes until my pie, mash and vegetables are ready then it's another blissful night in front of the TV for Margaret.  Hurrah.  Who needs a man when you've pastry and a V+ remote control?  Talking of such things I'm meeting Wilf on Saturday for old times sake.  Sigh.