Matron, the poor old thing, is oft consoled with a large drop of gin in her single estate Assam. No delicate Darjeeling here, it’s the proper strong stuff for my spiffy old gal. Seems rather a waste of the indubitably fine Tanqueray Ten in my books but then it’s been many a moon since I sipped on the devil’s sauce, what, what!
Anyhoo, today has dawned anew, began afresh and spawned its own unique set of difficulties, alas. I cannot for the life of me remember whether I should reverse, turn inside out or even both. What’s a poor chap to do, eh, eh? Matron’s no bally help at all: the redoubtable Assam has flown the coop and the old bean is consoling herself straight from the neck of the bottle. Disgraceful! You know what this means, of course - I, as in me, that is Yours Truly, is going to have to don the old tweeds and be the responsible one! Imagine? World’s gone mad…