Laugh Out Loud

My traveller in crime and I have never descended to this level the twice we were in Paris.

We just got mugged and pissed and found ourselves quite comical outside a cafe after being interrogated all day by the British Consulate and les Gendarmes .

And then at my home we may have danced on the kitchen table to Abba, Dancing Queen.

Maybe we spent a whole afternoon sorting out my laundry. On the utility room with men’s y-fronts on our heads as her mother cooked tea for us all whilst shouting at us to GROW UP.

And maybe she had the brilliant idea of bringing her daughters’ bikes from South Wales to here for us both to tootle around the village on.

Neither of us made it to the end of the driveway.

Slap wrist. TOO Much Laughing.

BAD.

POISON.

Shortening our lives with laughter and wine and silly :o(

P.S. Red wine is yuk. Dry White or VERY Dry White. Thank you!

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