The Oestrogn Tube, Man comes out of Cave and The making of Mr Bolsover

All of you may wonder why I have been rather quiet lately, there are a number of reasons for this , is the trauma I have suffered after flying back from France a week or so ago on the “yummy mummy” and pissed off Daddy plane with their forty one screaming babies, for whom they do not pay for seats. The whole plane smelled of breast milk, pooh nappies and menstruation, and a ghastly aura of oestrogen The screaming was a cacophony from hell . The woman next door to me changed her baby’s nappy in the seat. When I complained she looked at me with contempt and said it was in a vile pink bag which smelled worse that the pooh because its auto suggestion….. for me pink bag smelling of talcum is pooh get the sick bucket. There is an arrogance about this but this breeding thing is the fashion now within the middle class Wandsworth clan. They go on until one day the husband can’t stand it anymore has a vasectomy and gets a younger chick with high powered job. Listen you crazed people I have been there, had the tee shirt , don’t come on to me about it press the stop button or you will all end up in Streatham or Tooting and never come out .

The Sainted One is like and angry Bear , today he had to be extricated from the Man Cave by the cleaning assistant and moi. He gets very unpleasant when away from his toys and doggedly sat at his desk while I crawled about on the floor . I drew the line at getting under the desk and being in his crotch while doing the piles of fluff so he gracelessly moved to my pristine area and did his Sudoku on a recently cleaned velvet sofa.

I have delivered the first half of Summers Grace to my editor Elspeth who is a genius, she will be the only person to have seen it and will tell me if it is rubbish. OMG life in the fast lane is a challenge. All of you must read the Making of Mr Bolsover by Cornelius Medvei, it made me laugh so much I feared O might have opened my operation scars. But I hadn’t.

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