Eat A Bowl Of Cream

Wilf's not here this weekend - he's currently in Dorset learning how to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to Badgers, Stoats and Weasels.  Don't ask me why.  Wilf is the newly-elected president of a society called The Wonder of Wildlife and he's even designed his own sweatshirts; the current membership stands at three people and a dog called 'Sausages'.  He keeps asking me to up sticks and buy a 'smallholding' in the West Country, but I'm not too keen - how would I get to work?  If you ask me, Wilf's already in possession of a 'smallholding' fnarr, fnarr.

Bored I am.  Well, no - distracted mostly.  I have just consumed some raspberries and strawberries literally swimming in double cream.  Why?  Well, I'm single and I'm allowed to do such dotty things and anyway, the large carton of cream worked out at 31.9p per 100ml as opposed to 39.4p per 100ml for the smaller size.  I'm all for economy.

I really should be completing my application for a new job because mine disappeared ages ago and I'm currently 'supernumerary'.  I'll need to state why I'm suitable for an exciting future and explaining exactly how I demonstrate the actions concerned with impressing the panel with my knowledge of such topics as 'the big picture', 'managing effective change' and 'ballpoint pen husbandry' - actually, the latter was invented by moi.  Sigh.

It's Different For Girls

Wilf's coming over tonight - he's here more and more these days, almost as if he has nowhere else to live.  I don't mind him though - he doesn't eat much and brings his own duvet along with him.  It's strange how one often finds one's self back in an old relationship, which I pretty much equate to popping on an old, worn pair of slippers.  That sexy huh?  Actually, I cannot really see the point of too much sex: it's OK I suppose if only indulged in during birthday, anniversary or festive occasions, otherwise it's a bit of a waste of good reading time.

I'm singing in a choir concert tomorrow which is being held in a local church; Father and Wilf will be in the audience.  Father's strangeness seems to have multiplied since Mother's demise - he's now dressing as a Jester every other Friday and handing out sweets to the youngsters outside Lidl.  The management of the budget supermarket have requested that he cease this activity, lest they call in the 'authorities', but he refuses to.  Sometimes I wish that he'd continued to be an earthworm - at least they hang around together underground and don't make too much of a fuss about everything.