No, seriously, I need one. My floors are disgusting.
I feel like that lady in Carry On Behind, where she's going round the campsite,
asking for scrubbers in her broken English. Some say that one was better than Carry On
Camping! I can only disagree. Strongly! The Carry On Team were all tired by then.
Of course, this is not a seventies film or sitcom, so I'm going to have to restrain my request!
And look for a cleaner!
Put up another poem - the Cigarette Affair. Very personal. I went out with this married man
for one date up the pub. (He was separated). Gorgeous, the very spit of David Essex. Anyway,
at the end of the evening, he bought me twenty Silk Cut. I realised then that it was true love.
I was all of 16, so I knew about these things! Girls were far more innocent then, they know
too much today.
Anyway, I smoked nearly all of them on the way home. Between snogs with him, of course.
This was early 1975, it was a very different time. It was quite acceptable to get a mouthful
of tobacco then. Also to finish off a packet of fags three bus stops away!
Anyway, my Dad got wind of him, and hit him. So that relationship didn't last long.
I was over him in a week, but it was a very long week!
Talking of long weeks, I'd better get on....