Actually, the man is up and having coffee.....
He is a trooper. After a night like that... Amazing fellow.
Native Manchester?
OUTRAGEOUS!
mY RAGE IS SUCH THAT i HAVE FORGOTTEN TO TURN OFF THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON!
Is Manchester a bad place or something?
Manchester is "oop north", where they all talk like Daphne from "Frasier", and are still coming to terms with electricity.
Anybody who hails from north of Watford still uses woad.
Ah! An early riser! Good morning, LordE!
So, whose guess came closest to the truth about your night? <crossing fingers>
Good morning, Eva.
Did anyone guess at me going to bed at 10.45pm with a good book, managing to read three pages before falling off to sleep and then getting nuzzled on the face by the dog's cold wet nose at 4am, because she was desperate to pee?
If so, we have a winner.
I vaguely remember having a dream that made me laugh out loud, but I'm buggered if I remember the details.
I may go back to bed in a mo, in order to sneak another hour or so.
such a hard life....how do you live in such conditions, you poor man....
Ellpus' morning shave
Arising from his, Lord Ellpus strode into his bathroom and removed his razor strop from it's hook on the wall. He admired the face staring back him, knowing that absolutely nothing is more masculine than a shave tool that can take your head clean off. He smiled in the knowledge that straight razors practically drip testosterone from their unprotected blades, the icons of dangerous living. Ellpus knew straight-razor shaving is an art - one that takes practice, the rock of eye, and a steady hand. Rush the job and Ellpus knew he would be applying Krazy Glue to his Adam's apple.
Ellpus knew lather is everything when shaving with a straight razor. The cardinal rule is to never let the lather dry or become too thin, or his razor wouldn't work.
He dipped a badger hair shave brush in warm, not hot, water and used it to apply emulsified shave cream and water as a thick lather to his beard. He allow the lather two or three full minutes before shaving to soften the hairs.
During that time, Ellpus sharpened his razor with a leather strop. Stropping isn't exactly brain surgery but does involve a marginal level of skill. To strop the blade, Ellpus fixed one end of the strop to the hook on the wall and held the other end of the strop in his left hand, which he doesn't use for writing. Then he ran the blade horizontally in rapid back-and-forth strokes along the leather surface.
Ellpus was careful that the blade should always be turned away from him when pulling it toward his body. Then he flipped the blade over to face him when stropping in the opposite direction. Strop-flip-strop-flip-strop.
Once his stropping was complete, Ellpus applied another layer of emulsified cream and he was ready to rock and roll. He held the razor securely by placing the pads of his index and second fingers on the shank, his thumb under the shank and against the shoulder, the handle raised vertically between his middle and ring fingers, and his ring and dainty pinky fingers resting inside the crescent-shaped tang.
Using the fingers of his free hand, Ellpus stretched his skin until it was as taught as possible. He held the razor at a 30 degree angle to the surface of his skin and shaved his first even stroke in the direction of hair growth. Ellpus applied lather over the freshly shaven area and shaved a second even stroke against the direction of hair growth. Only two strokes were necessary.
Ellpus knew the angle of the dangle was his key to error-free shaving. Fewer than 30 degrees and he knew he would rip the hair out by its root. More than 30 degrees and he'd very likely slice himrself to ribbons. The only areas for which this rule doesn't apply are Ellpus' adorable chin and upper lip. For these two trouble spots only, he angled the back of the blade a little closer to his skin and proceeded with caution.
Peering in the mirror, Ellpus was satified with his work, rinsed his handsome face and patted it dry. Then he patted on some aftershave lotion. He admired himself once more, then flicked off the bathroom light and strode down the hall to find the aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen.
BBB
two strokes? what was he shaving?
Dag
dagmaraka wrote:two strokes? what was he shaving?
Aha, another dirty mind at work.
BBB
Having completed his dipilatory, Lord E contemplates the commode.
"Do I have enough time?" he ponders, glancing at his cell phone for the time....
"Or, do I need to have Penberthy administer the bung plug?"
Lord Ellpus tucks his willy back into his button-front trousers (hasn't worn zippered pants since 1982 when the wanger was seriously injured after a pee in Mrs. Cadburys front garden). Straightening up, his Lordship realizes he has peed on the cat and you know how cats hate water! Ah well, as a non-cat lover, LordE makes a mental note to write a paper on the subject for his other website chat group "Kick the Cat Club" or was it "Bang that Pussy"? Anyways, his Lordship is getting ready for his repast, sitting down in his favorite chair at the club, when all of a sudden a boy comes running in to give him an urgent message. The missus is calling for him to return home immediately. Oh and drop off at the bookies before it closes to put ten pounds on PMS in the fourth. LordE rushes into the manor and races to beloved wifes side only to find out that Mother-in-Law has come to visit and is in the middle of showing her tea-cosy collection to the Ladyship. Noticing that his Lordships willy has not been been properly tucked away and is peeking between the buttons of his pants, ladies proceed to snigger and select thimble-cover-cosy as suggested cover-up for his Lordship.
Ellpus stomps off muttering "Where's that cat, so I can kick it?"
Heeven
APPLAUSE!
Heeven, Take a bow.
BBB
the cat, however, had other plans than to get kicked by LordE again
