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Ah, I see.


I had thought you meant the knife-wielding maniac was cuckoo, but you meant me, right?


In my defence, expat's right - you don't use my German steel for a hacksaw. And he was a redtop journalist. And he loved Rupert Murdoch. And he looked really fucking smug like the control freak he was when I came back from the bathroom and he'd arranged the flowers (in the wrong vase - they looked shocking!) and lined up my kitchen like a scene from Sleeping With the Enemy. And he was wearing a really really bad shirt.

RosieH Wrote:

-------------------------------------------------------

> Ah, I see.

>

> I had thought you meant the knife-wielding maniac

> was cuckoo, but you meant me, right?


No* I was actually trying to convey the concept of cuckoo ca choo pictorially like.


*well maybe

I was dumped by a bloke called Colin who played on my local pub darts team. On the last night of our three week relationship he took me to the pub to meet his team mates and to introduce me to the fine game of darts. I'd never played it before, I was only 17. He must have been oh about 20. Anyway, I beat him - so that was curtains for us.

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