The Adventure Of The Christmas Pudding

Waking up, I look at my watch. Six o’clock. Of course, now that’s it’s upon us, I really can’t be bothered to have a bath, get dressed and go to a party. It’s dark outside. The fluffy monster snoozes in his pink chair: apricot paws dangling over the edge. Lily is expecting me, I think. Must get out and meet people and so on.
“You never know who you’re going to meet,” Mum says, as if, say, Rafa Nadal is likely to be at this particular pub on a Monday night. Fingers crossed that he is!
“What time are you two getting there tonight?” The message from Suzie flashes across my screen.
“8.30 I think?” I reply. Good: Suzie will be there too. Must concentrate most of my attentions on talking to new people, but will be with my chums. Nothing bad is going to happen.
Hopefully no-one will ask me how I am or how the treatment is going or anything like that. Have precious little to talk about at the moment other than how exhausted I am and what I’ve been watching on the television, but once I’m there it will be fine.
“No it won’t,” the panther says, turning his head, his huge amber eyes appraising me. “You’re too fat to go out.”
“Yes, but if I wear that short black dress, no-one will notice,” I tell him. He shakes his head and rests it on his paws, closing his eyes, wrapping his tail around himself.

Will just make a small list of things to talk about at the party:
1. The fluffy monster. Can provide photographic evidence.
2. Recent bike rides
3. Can ask people about themselves. They love banging on and on about their jobs and so on. Will just assume glazed-am-listening-expression and think about going-back-to-sleep
4. This blog: see also Dating, Tinder and other subjects connected with it
5. The weather: “it’s unseasonably warm/ cold/ dry/ wet for this time of year.” Delete as applicable.

That ought to be enough…

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