“It was no great leap for me to imagine myself as Robert Redford,” deadpans Coyle, whose previous biggest role was in BBC2’s puerile sitcom Coupling (in tribute to his sex-obsessed character Jeff, people in the street still shout “Breasts!” at him). - The Telegraph.
It was damn Coupling who gave us the giggle loop, and damn it if I didn't nearly rupture something during the funeral when I suddenly went to the Peter Sellers place (it was the Glenn Miller).
Still, it was better than thinking about The Doctor Dances, because that was one of the tunes, and I'll be biting my cheek from now one during that episode because of the songs, the fact that it was playing the week she died and the whole "I want my Mummy" thing, well. And I thought Father's Day was the only episode I had to be upset about.
Today I'm having wardrobe malfunctions, to wit: one top that has decided that it wants to do nothing so much as roll up under my armpits and stay there. Everytime I get up I think, hmmm, bit drafty in the old midriff area before I'm squeaking and pulling down my top yet again. This could get annoying.
Worse, it's not even the solitary incident of exhibitionism this week. Alas no. On Saturday coming home from the fete, well, the bus drivers are always terrible and to stop my backpack full of dishes swinging and smashing into the seats and poles as we were bumped and flung about I swung it up over my shoulder and it managed to catch up my coats and t-shirts in a bundle with it and, needing both hands to stop myself being flung backwards, forwards or sideways (this morning I was flung so hard I heard my arm crack again) there was nothing for it but to stagger off the bus showing white blubbery flesh and a good 5cm of nana knickers (the jeans are riding low these days on account of dropping a couple of sizes, but still a fat overstuffed pig, have no fear).
Oh well, at least it was best knickers, and not one of the 'should have been retired to the rag bag by now' ones I've been wearing of late because no matter how many armfuls of nana knickers I buy, they just keep disappearing into the back of the wardrobe, never to be seen again. Mr Tumnus must be up to his faun ears in my nana knickers by now, the dirty wee perve.
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