Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Monday, 5 August 2019
The Bishop admits to his domestic habits.
Once the subject of egg quality had been exhausted.
Bishop: I enjoy nothing more of an evening than mulling over my sermons whilst washing the dishes but often find that the maid has beaten me to it.
William Spooner: Your wishes dashed so to speak.
Bishop: I often imagine that one day there will be a machine invented for wish dashing. One would just fill it up then sit back in dissapointment. Of course I would still have the fine crystal and Wedgewood.
Spooner: Ah yes, Wedgewood, there are no two ways about that.
With apologies to Gerald Du Maurier.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment