At Death’s Door

Oh woe is me, for that is where I have been. I have had a moderately bad cold a near fatal case of man-flu. I still sound hoarse as hell rather husky and sexy, Lauren-Bacallso I shall make my fortune (obviously) over the next few days by offering “Lauren Bacall phone sex”. Either that or I’ll continue to wander around the house amusing myself by saying things like “In Soviet Russia, kettle boils you”.

I have spent this evening eating (someone else’s) Dairy dmMilk and drinking hot tea (made by the chocolate owner) whilst looking for a nice chunky knit hooded scarf to snuggle into during the winter months. I was tucked under a duvet in a comfy chair and was ill prepared for ugly scarfthe shocking discovery (don’t forget my weakened state) that Urban Outfitters sell one for £250. TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY QUID!! FOR A SCARF! A rather bloody ugly one at that. You could buy a flock of feckin’ sheep to snuggle up to for less than that.

Anyway, none of that is what I planned to tell you. Apart from the fact that I have been clinging desperately to life (did I mention that I’ve not been well?). Which leads me to the fact that I need to catch up with my email. If you think you’re being ignored, worry not. You’ll get a reply over the next day or so. Unless of course you are the chap who emailed me about “doing intercourse and other sex stuff” in which case don’t hold your breath.

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