Santa and Kenny Rogers made a career out of their white beards. Not to mention Billy the Corrie Vicar. Yet another one that was up for a fumble immediately after the funeral.
Idiots!
Just shave it off, Ron, This is no time to do a garden gnome impersonation.
Xx
He’s got very long thick brushes,obligatory flat cap( no whippets) and sometimes makes a bit of a mess.
I am another Jane. The website said not to use a real name. Willow is just part of my address and a bit of a joke. Nobody was ever less willowy than me. I am 4ft 10 and closer to the hobbit end. But my toes are not hairy, unlike Ron’s chin.
Xx
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Does he keep ferrets in his trousers?
Don’t get his number. I have gone off him.
My flue doesn’t need his attention.
I am fine.
Xx
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I have never looked in his trousers perhaps I should he might be nicking my soot.
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Hairy toes might keep our feet warm. I am not willowy either, 5ft and a fag paper.
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Now I have a mental image of that 
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Sadly us fellas reach a certain age and start growing hair in places where we don’t want it,and losing hair where we do.
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You are a bit like the Rochdale Cowboy. It took him all night to do what he used to do all night.
Even if he was the wrong side of the Pennines.
We ladies just have to adjust to everything going South.
There is a spiteful wicked old lady living here. She stands in front of the mirror when I am getting dressed. She waits until I am not around and alters all my clothes, they are all too big for me now. She even puts grey streaks in my hair while I am asleep.
Xx
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Her twin has come to Scotland and has moved in with me, she scares the living daylights out of me
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I can’t even remember what I used to do all night,thing is my brain still thinks my body is still 25 and it surely isn’t.
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The annoying thing is that she stands in front of me and I can’t see past her to my voluptuous 18 year old body. There is her old saggy body obscuring my own.
What a viscous old crone she is!
When I was a teenager my nanna used to tell me that if I kept on looking in the mirror, one day I would see an old lady looking back at me.
I thought she was a mad old bat. Now I am her.
Xx
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I had a good start to the day I was feeling good enjoying the banter on here when wham, the postman brought me a letter and there it was in black and white that awful word “Widowed”. I felt as though I had been punched and shouted I am married and always will be. The day went downhill from then on
Bloody postmen. Mine posts stuff through my letter box, shouts, “Sorry”, and buggers off smartly sometimes. He knows from the envelopes when I won’t be happy.
He has been great, really. Offered to get my shopping, puts parcels through the cat flap if I am out. He asks how I am, I tell him I would be better if he stops bringing me work.
I threaten him with the jet washer and tell him I am going to get a great big sod-off dog. One day, for a laugh, I saw his van. Sat down on the floor in the hall and waited. When the letters and his fingers appeared, I grabbed hold of his hand.
Try it. It’s something to do, and we all need a hobby.
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I made a very stupid mistake tonight,had dinner the usual glass of wine with it,channel hoping oh Robin Hood prince of thieves why not totally forgetting the final song.
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Yep, always the little unexpected things that jump out and bite.
I went looking for a cake tin big enough for my monster chocolate cake. Found all the neatly stacked boxes in a wall cupboard in the utility room. One of the cupboards that have remained unexplored, it is too high to be accessible unless I climb on a stool. I found stuff he used, shoe brushes and polish, meths and surgical spirit (Why)? Anyway, no use to me. They will be disposed of before the next bin day. And that’s another trigger, he always put the bins out.
They just keep on coming.
Xx
It seems the swamp has a monopoly on weekends,I think in future I will take a chill pill on Friday nights and wake up on Monday morning.
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Oh no, Ron.
The Swamp is always there, waiting to swallow us. The trick is to not go close to it.
On weekdays I can go to the shop, meet friends for coffee, even go and argue with banks. At the weekends, friends are busy with families, my daughter is at home demanding attention and chocolate cake, asking for Daddy. It is hard to not get sucked into The Swamp.
It’s difficult to avoid it at times,the bugger lays traps for us to fall into,and then we have to start again,and tomorrow is sunday deep joy.
I have invited a recently widowed friend round for lunch tomorrow. Little does she expect that my daughter is in monster-mode and she will be required to consume vast quantities of chocolate cake.
I am going to keep her here until it has all been eaten.
Xx
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