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dulwichmum Wrote:

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>

> I'll have you know that I have the perfect and

> unblemished skin of a 19 year old... I shall have

> it stretched and displayed on a canvass very soon



Be careful what you wish for Mrs Dorian Gray...

How dare you sully DM's vanity with such wanton abandon Mick Mac. I'll have you know that me and Michael P spent the whole of yesterday evening bouncing 50 pence pieces off DM's stomach. I'll also have you know that DM's is no fictional creation of Oscar Wilde.....more like someone out of Cosmopolitan.

Ones money and wealth is never a topic of public discourse, I'm afraid.


It does appear that, in the venacular of my great grandaughter, I have been blown off by Dulwich Mum. It is such a shame, as the dining room has little use these days and I was hoping to re-create its glory days.

Mick Mac Wrote:

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Poor old BBW has been hankering

> after an invite for many a long year now, but

> still nothing. Join the queue behind his tail.


It's so true.


I remember the days when mine and DM's antics were all over the broadsheets and we would dine at Gavroche and dance till dawn. We enjoyed a whirlwind romance that took us to all 4 corners of the globe but I went and spoilt everything one night at Claridges after she got out of the shower I was standing there naked holding a pot of Nutella chocolate spread and a paint brush. I winked at her and she got all unreasonable and violent.

Shame on the lot of you. Engaging in wild, abandoned, sensual, sexually explicit fantasies about a pert, perfectly toned and glossy married lady like me (bats eyelashes). I am incredibly shy, and almost never take my clothes off, not even to wash...

Shame on you. I have eyes only for James. Yes I have engaged in occasional physically abusive acts against Michael P, but when I realised that he was extracting pleasure from it, I stopped!


I am a married lady and I never engage in dalliances, idle or not (slaps face with glove).

How dare you speak of dulwichmum in such a working class fashion Mick Mac. I'll have you know that our lady that lunches never has cold feet. She merely saw the state of the sheets, booted me in the nuts whilst looking coldly down her nose at such a filthy soul and made for the door. She was kind enough to leave me some money for the bus though so you never know.

We have a room, its the (not very) Quiet Room. I am DM had a long term lover in the name of Batdog, a small, black and white pug, he disappeared in mysterious circumstances some time ago. Her marriage to James is a farce, as measured by the high turn-over of Au-pairs and the retained Gynaecologist.


Sadly deluded, DM shuffles from gin palace to trashy emporium seeking solace in conspicuous consumption and oblivion in the bottle.


Let us be understanding of her bizarre behaviour and uncertain ways, she nears the end of a long and painful journey of self destruction.


Nobody mention the smell.

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