Priests and prostitutes?
Mel got sent a picture on her phone a couple of nights ago. It was a friend who worked in Argos.
Apparently Argos have started stocking costumes now, and Mel’s friend was dressed up as a priest.
“Maybe he’s going to one of those parties,” Mel suggested, “what are they called?”
She paused to try and remember, before answering her own question: “Priests and prostitutes?”
“Vicars and tarts?” I offered.
“I think mine sounded better!” she said with a grin.
I finally got round to fixing my bike on Monday. The tires are pumped up, and the handlebar realigned so that I can reach the brakes, as the handlebars kept slipping before.
I even managed to get out for a 10-minute ride as well. Then this morning I woke up half an hour later and now can’t be bothered to go out again.
I’m never going to lose this gut, am I? Still, at least I consoled myself with a few bourbon biscuits. If you could see me now, I’ve just physically sighed!
On a brighter note, I had a couple come into the bank yesterday, interested in taking a £50k loan.
Fingers crossed that will go through this month.