When BBC’s Life on Mars did not feature Gene Hunt complaining about the newly decimal pound, I found myself complaining about that, recently. It just seemed to fit for a curmudgeon, who was in his 40s when it happened, to bitch about decimalisation, as well as the EU and all that. Maybe he was just too busy keeping Manchester’s streets clean, though.
Imagine drinking a nice glass of milk when suddenly, you are trampled by a stampeding herd of angry cows. In a way, that is exactly what happened to me. Just on a smaller scale, of course. Well, and you would have to switch out the milk with cow barf. On second thought, that picture does not even begin to hold up…
Have you ever put on a shiny, new tie that looked really good and tied your whole outfit together only to found it soaked in soup a couple of hours later? I might have a vested interest in telling you this, but the solution to your problem are vests. Or waistcoats if you prefer. By the way, why is it still called a “bulletproof vest” in the UK?
The old, wrinkled face lay on the pillow, a stark contrast to the white, starched linen of the hospital pillow. “She does look peaceful” Kim thought, even though she was almost afraid to touch her Gran Gran. The face looked like the skin was made from a paper thin coating of a mixture of porcelain and parchment. She has also been developing severe bruises from the merest touch as of late and Kim wanted nothing less than to hurt her Gran Gran. “Way too peaceful to be afraid of that Devil Apparition of hers.” It is not often a 16 year old even has a great grandmother these days, much less one that she spends so much time with.