Fortunately for you, dear readers, my downstairs neighbour knocked at my door earlier in the manner of the Man from Porlock, thus preventing me from writing a maudlin and tearful post about how ex-Mr P and I spent today moving his stuff and the last of mine out of the former marital home and into our respective new Bachelor and Bachelorette Flats.
You should be especially grateful that I was interrupted before I could tell you that ex-Mr P chose to mark this poignant occasion by playing Barry Adamson's The Sweetest Embrace, a song whose lyrics are nothing if not apposite to the whole sorry situation.
You're also probably better off not knowing that in the final shipment* from the Former Marital Home to the Bachelorette Flat were my two long-suffering familiars, putting me in the unenviable position of being a Thirtysomething Woman Who Lives Alone With Cats. I can feel the cobwebs forming over my nether regions as I type.
On a brighter note, I did find more than £500 worth of unclaimed expenses receipts in my handbag. I'm off out tomorrow to spend it on cat milk, hairnets and Mills and Boon novels. Hurrah for spinsterdom!
* Shipped here in a massive tail-lift Luton truck, which ex-Mr P handled admirably well for someone who had only got in from an all-night clubbing extravaganza three hours previously.
About Bob Dylan
2 days ago
5 comments:
I'd be smug if I said that, it's quite funny.
It's better than being fortysomething and living alone with cats. Like wot I do
It could be worse. I live alone with only the neighbour's cats for company. And they only drop by to pollute my garden.
cats and cobwebs aside, at least you have a proper life. i mean, it's not as if you spend loadds of time talking to imaginary people on the internet or anything - now that would be tragic.
ah.
Er, no, quite. I would never do anything like that. Oh no.
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