by the rays of the rising sun I sit and have a quiet pluck.
Of all the ravages of time, the one I resent the most, is the proliferation of prickles on me chin. Armed with my shocking pink tweezers and magnifying mirror I go to war.
Which to tackle first - the black ones, lying in wait in the folds of my many and various chins? Or the tough white little buggers with the evil attitude of hemp weathered too long at sea?
After a party or social occasion, where you 'may have' been chatting to a lovely man, you catch a sight of, glinting evilly on your carefully made-up face, an 'ORRIBLE 'AIR!
"And I thought he was gazing fascinatingly into my face with wonder"
Yes he was... however (that word again)...
he just couldn't take his eyes off the one and only thorn, in my otherwise immaculate armour.