JPB wrote:heheh, I never would have guessed, smorgs. I'd be very surprised if he wasn't having one with you too.........
How very perceptive, JPB.
I have often imagined what life would be like with smorgs, and have even planned how the usual imaginary day would pan out.
I would wake in the morning, lean over and kiss her on both cheeks, pull her nightie back down and leave her sleeping while I went to arrange the kitchen utensils into alphabetical order.
Iwould then telephone Fortnum and Masons to arrange for some appropriate northern food to be deliverd in time for breakfast.
Waking her with a gentle tap on the rump with a horse crop, I would draw her a bath, and if she liked it, I would get it framed and hang it on the wall.
After breakfast, a quick morning jog, both of us wearing sports bras, of course.
A spot of Luncheon, and then a few noisy hours spent screaming in the rumpy room whilst playing hunt the clematis, before a stroll in the garden with a Havana and afternoon tea on the terrace.
Changing into formal wear for the evening, I would take her hand and lead her to one of my fabulous balls, and once she had got over the shock, we would dance the evening away before retiring to the four poster at 9.30pm with a cup of something soothing, a bottle of those little blue pills and whatever I could grab from the utensil rack on the way up.
