The thoughts of me and my dog who used to be Harvey, but is now George, who is Harvey's great-great-great-great-nephew.
The windows are open, and the heating is off. I hope the fumes have gone by bedtime. I do not want to wake up dead.
Is that the same as "dying alive" Liz? We don't want that either. Keep that air going....
Reminds me of an overhead piece of conversation in a Chinese restaurant, just before Christmas:What was wrong with her then?Nothing. She just woke up yesterday morning, dead.
That in turn reminds me of my auntie who was telling me how lucky her neightbour was,'She sat down in her chair and died.'
Heaven forbid you wake up dead. The bedroom walls need something. Paint or paper?
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