We had to go and vote today. I consulted mines Mr Husband on
mychoice of underwear. Red or Blue? He said 'You don't need to even worry about your
underwear my little pickled walnut- no-one will stop a galloping horse to look
at your underwear'. Well they might because its very country bumpkin down here
you know and we have lots of horses (and cows and sheep and him at number five
got a fine specimen of a cock and four gooses). They have horse and hounds in
the doctors surgery instead of Chat and Take a Break down here ya know. Anyways
we didn't see any horses. And I didn't bother with the underwear which is when
it all kicked off. Apparently going naked to vote isn't the done thing!
Especially in Conservative Whimple. Ooops. It actually never said anything on the card
about dress code- which I duly pointed out to the woman on the door and to the old lady who asked my address and the
nice policemans who took a selfie with me. Well not strictly with me. More of me. Snooty
bunch down in that there village. Old Ted Brown said 'Nice to see you wearing
blue today and two lovely blue rosettes- but you should have ironed that frock
before you come out today Mrs'. I slapped him. I am not wearing feckin blue you
eejit. I am not wearing anything. If I am blue tis cos its cold out and they
are not rosettes- tis very nipply out here today'. That was when the policemans
came just after he arrived. Anyways I am late with the update because I had to
wait for me mate Norma to bring bail money and clothes. I did manage to
vote. Whilst we was waiting at the police station Mines Mr Husband said 'who
did you vote for my little fruitcake?'- 'The
nice man who came to the door'. I said. He looked very puzzled at me. 'Which
man?' he asked, 'we haven't had anyone come to the door'. I looked puzzled back
because I knew we had. 'The tall man that looked like the hunchback of notre
dame. He had grey and a matching gilet' (cos thats how they roll down here in
the country- its all grey hair and gilets). Suddenly it was if someone switched
a light on in his little head. 'Ha, I know the one you mean. But he wasn't a
candidate my little peach, he was asking for directions to the corner cottage,
remember?' To be honest I am hoping he
won't get in because he is always feckin lost. I just thought it may keep him
busy and stop him knocking on my door for directions. And if he knocks again I
shall slap him naked and hide all his clothes. That will cure him. The good
thing to come out of this was I managed to get a little souvenir for mines
husband (ye all know how I likes to get him a little souvenir when I goes out).
A black box. There was all bits of paper in there- used one side mind you (some
buggar had been playing noughts and crosses), but no matter to me. I can make
notes on the other side (of the paper- not as on the other side when I die!!-
although if there is pen and paper there I will do.) Mines Mr Husband is now in
his shed filling his black box with tools and painting over the words
bolloxbots that some bright spark had written on the side in white paint. I
could have bought him one but we are currently suffering from Austerity.
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