It seems one now has a bath - and lighting, such as it is
I can't see the Devil of the point of the thing:
It seems old Lav is the only one who can get in there
Marjorie finally agreed to the sitting room cum parlour be moved to the ground floor.
Meaning our bedroom relocating to it's rightful place, instead of being stuck up in that attic
Poor Mary is intimidated by our state-of-the-art Aga. £800 that cost, and she won't go near the thing
In fact, Mary's baffled by her new kitchen altogether!
She yearns for the dodgy gas oven and ramshackle cupboards of our old dwelling.
And now, the cracks are really beginning to show:
Quite literally. I mean look at this am-dram workmanship!
But there are other things too. I mean, Marjorie's horrified that we have the dining table in the parlour (until we get the conservatory). But I seem to be the only one that eats at it!
And even then, it's only fucking cake!
Marjorie has her meals brought up to her (in a glass)
The greedy little mare! She could offer me some!
That's when she's not hours on the telephone to that wretched I've-swallowed-a-bible boyfriend (who I now don't like!)
Am I the only one pulling my weight around this house?
I'm sorry to sound so seedy today, but I've stopped watching television and having relations with blokes next door. I work my arse off doing Stand-up in poxy Sydenham Green or wherever! You'd just think I'd get a bit of support!!!
" I'm off up the pub! Last one to get a round in is a poof! Whoops!"
Is Plastic Paul having a meltdown?
(Get it? Plastic? Melt? Oh please yourselves!) Will he get in the last round?
Tune in. Same time. Same channel!
for indepth interviews with the stars of Amanda Ann - click here
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