Chatting on the phone while holding a fish slice..

And with Mother doing her impersonation of a drunk.
'Tis the drugs.

Anyway as I whispered filth into the mouthpiece, (it's alright I know the man well) someone rang me bell.
"Hold it hun" I said to Man Friend "Someone's pressing me bell"
"OK Babee but get rid quick"

Eon man in red anorak wanting to get to me meter so his masters can send out, just after Christmas, a jollyless bill.

"You'll need to climb upon me chair" I said holding the fish slice like a wand.
"It's up there, and mind the webs"
Bless his heart there he was, one hand on his thin torch, the other holding a machine with buttons.
He checked and read then checked and re-read then stepped down and thanked me profusely for the use of chair. (Ash)

"Thank you again" said meter man and tripped on the rugged doormat.
He seemed a little flustered, think it might have heard my Man Friend breathing raspily.

Back to my phone call only this time with fish slice between knees.
And then, just as I was giggling (God I hate giggling women) Mother shouted nicely for some more lemonade.
"Hold it, will you?" I answered "I'm busy here"

The conversation went on and on and like a fool I leant against the wall dropping things and feeling things and generally getting in a lather.
But like all excellent things it had to end and so it did. Fantastically.

The fish slice is now clean and dry.

Talking of fish I found a fish finger on the floor of my spare room, must have escaped when I was cracking through the ice on the freezer.

Being held up tonight on account of Mr H's late homecoming is a splendid Cottage Pie.
I loathe keeping a good dinner waiting, it kind of kills the passion. Food is love and love is passion.
And passion should be served Hot.

Not lukewarm, specially on a Wednesday.