Quite frankly, sometimes I do. I can't help it. I just eat too much for my washboard abs to cope with. Just like that Jack Nicholson/Diane Keaton film, something's gotta give. So I had had a lovely lunch at Granny's in the countryside. Finished off with a small glass of red wine, and a bowl of chocolate roulade and double cream. Feeling utterly content I got into my car to make the 1.5 hr drive to my other Granny's. Who would have thought someone pretending so heavily to be in her 80s could ever do something like what happened next?
Ten minutes down the road I felt a little cough tickling my throat. Oh no. Not a cough. Hello roulade. Thought I'd left you in Great Maplestead village, not sitting
down my cream wool jumper and ice white jeans for the next hour on the motorway. Lucky my short term memory is abysmal so once I'd started planning what ice cream flavours my wedding buffet will serve* I forgot all about it.
*Not imminent. Remember my most recent boyfriend believed in conspiracy theories.
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