Name that tune: “To make things right, you need someone to hold you tight” – Tainted Love, Soft Cell
The Bman has gone to Bulgaria this week to visit our friend Small Man Cabs, so the childerbeast and I are left to fend for ourselves. I will be able to wash up and cook as inexpertly as I wish without fear of condemnation for a whole week.
Frankly he’s welcome to the weather. I prefer my hols a tad warmer. The very thought of it being 20 below makes my wee freeze inside my bladder. I just hope he’s taken enough pairs of socks – the extremities are the first to go you know.
FYI. If anyone out there in the SuperEther thinks that this information leaves me open to burglary and intruders in the night, let me state that I have a hockey stick which I am not afraid to use, and the strength of upper arm to wield it grievously (just ask that goalkeeper from Waterside school circa 1985 – I think she still may have one eye socket smaller than the other).
Anyway Bman had to get up at 2am to catch a ludicrously slow train to Manc Airport. I heard him get up and thought I’d send him on his way with the thought of me much in his mind. So I did that chick thing of arranging self in irresistible manner, with covers slightly off thus exposing my womanly curves to the night. Hair carefully splayed out on the pillow, face slightly tilted upward & lips moistened for ease of kissing for when he came back in the room to tenderly kiss me adieu…
Vargas image courtesy of Google Images
I’ll be honest with you…I couldn’t tell you whether he came in or not because I fell asleep again pretty much straight away. So he could have been greeted with me flailed out, legs akimbo, flat on back and gob wide open like some kind of over-inflated fat sex doll.
Truth be told , I don’t think he even came back in the room…