I limped and hobbledl anguidly out into the town in glorious sunshine wearing a cotton print dress from Harrods with a pure new wool coat over it and a pair of white leather shoes made by Ecco of Rome and Paris.While slurping milky coffee and humming Grieg’s cello sonata I noticed a lady struggling to get up out of her rather padded chair.With my usual generosity and kindness I gave her some advice based on lessons I went to on the Alexander technique which propelled her up and onto her feet.
She then regaled me with the story of how her husband had died without warning sitting right next to her on the sofa.He must have been wealthy for she wore four huge gold rings of obviously high quality.She must have thought I looked as if I needed cheering up
We discovered we both hated Mrs Thatcher which was for her the first time she’d met anyone with a similar view.
By a marvellous coincidence I then met a lady at the bus stop who told me how her husband retired and took up bowls.Soon he dropped dead on the bowling green after only a few weeks of retirement; we agrees it was extremely thoughtful of him to die outside of the house and need no rescusitation as he had a sticky label on his jumper saying,Bowled Out.Goodbye.
So when I arrived home I examined my enchanted honey scented husband all over with a small magnifying glass and found he was still alive though somewhat bewildered until he realised I had had my hair cut off to make me look more like a survivor of leprosy and a transexual sheep rolled into one.
Earlier a sparrow kept flying into the window and then into a little bay tree.Is it an omen? And who knows what is about to happen?
For as my husband says, the future is fiction.
But is my future in fiction as I want money….for more scope
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