According to Albert there is something called a hard-drive in this machine; well, at present this hard-drive is making noises akin to a chicken being throttled. One fears that one may be 'offline' for a few days in the near future. Should this occur do not despair plebians, I will return with renewed vigour.
My daughter Louise, the artist, had some of her bohemian friends call on her this afternoon. She insisted on cooking a very large mushroom omelette which they all consumed with fervour. Since then they have been giggling like idiots. I don't know quite what my children are growing at Swiss Cottage but I intend to find out.
This evening one of Louise's male companions is to pose for an art class, au naturel, I think that I might feel disposed to do some sketching myself.
I have to go now as another young woman, called Annie Chapman, has just arrived saying that she too was most brutally murdered by my grandson Eddie. This really is insufferable!. Stupid girl.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment