By Inchie
73 years of age, pretty ugly, short, bald, pot-bellied, in ill health. Decaying physically and morally. Metal ticker, Duodenal Donald, Saccades-Sandra, Arthur Rheumatoid Itis, Hernia Henry, Hard of Hearing Hank, Bad eyesight Boris, Reflux Roger, Peripheral Neuropathy, Nerve Neurotransmitters Not-working Wendy, Bladder Cancer Chris, Stuttering Sandra, Haemorrhoid Harold, Shaking Shaun, Dizzy Dennis... there are others, but I've tired myself out, now! Hehehe! Oh, then I had a stroke!
Failures, Accifauxpas and Whoopsiedangleplops are my Forte... Hehehe!
I love making folk smile when I can. TTFNski!
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‘You put the bloody claret in the fridge, Shirley…have you no etiquette; no panache?’
Oh, You got the electricity reconnected then Mike?
Elec OK…we still await the plumber for hot water on the top floor!
Tsk! Good luck!
As we say in America, “At least it keeps them off the streets!” (One hopes… drunk driving is naughty and dangerous, of course, not to mention totally illegal.)
As I hear it Weggie, Duncan and Mike are having electric motors fitted to their chairs? Hehe! Cheers.
Those farts aren’t smelling any better…
Aha, that’s why Shirl is staying outside and smiling then? Hehe!
Of course!
Duncan, that’s not a balanced diet. Where’s the stout?
I like it!