t'old lass is sat under the
all is peaceful in her domain.
Strop-levels wither and die
to the tune of the chirruping of
sparrows in the hedge.
All is content in this jungle garden
in the heart of Kent.
Chilean wine and upmarket crisps
Hubs is quietly tucked up; watching
the British Grand Prix.
Life is good, peace reigns.
Clouds scud across the
azure blue sky,
the wind tickles the leaves,
lulling her into a blissful reverie.
at the turn of a page,
her world comes crashing down.
What could possibly shaft
her Sunday afternoon idyll?
Seen here in all their glory.
Now I know I've written at length
about JC and Top Gear
and of late I've thought...
'Get a life Lin...
You know something, I can't, I frigging can't.
The reason this time LL?
Well seeing as you've asked...
'We haven't, we haven't!'
'Well I'm gonna tell you any road!'
The TV girls, live in fear of ageing and being
upstaged by younger, nubile and far more beautiful
young things, snapping at their
These podgy toss-pots clad in rubber
(and if ever you had a yen, for a rubber clad bod,
this picture would surely be the antidote)
blithely emerge from Loch Ness or wherever.
It begs the question...
Beer belly... What!
Triple chins... Whatever!
are there double standards at
or should us girls not give a toss?
Chuck out the
corsets, the botox, the silicone implants,
the plucking, the waxing, the hair extensions,
the fillers, the lipo-suction, fake tan,
false nails, tattooed eyebrows,
(it's a wonder how you get them on,
let alone off!)
to a man...
if you'll pardon the expression
Hairy, flobby and free...
I ought to own up...
I do like a quiet pluck by
the light of the silvery moon.