Meeting Momma Gledwood

WISH ME LUCK: I'm about to treck down to Trafalgar Square to meet Momma Gledwood with a Mother's Day card and a basketed "indoor arrangement" (margaritas (not the Los Angeles desperate bourgeois housewife's drink; I'm talking florists' daisies here) plus some pinky-white tiny square-like flowers with moneyplant-reminiscent leaves. These in separate pots in a little basket that she can keep in her conservatory (I don't believe in cut flowers; I think they're a waste of flowers if you know what I mean. Why not spend a little more on something that's still growing??) I shaved, changed into an entire outfit devoid of the dreaded bloodstains and fag-holes (woo!!) and put on deodorant especially. Also I washed my hair as I said. It looks silky-soft and lovely, even though it is my hair. Perhaps the drugs have finally warped my mind completely or maybe my hair really is getting more acceptable as time rushes me towards pensionerhood. Well I've got to go now and collect some dog-ends to dismember into the Golden Vaginia pouch I skankilly brought with me for the purpose. My Mother is vigorously antismoking (I don't know why as both her parents smoked. I grew up with an abiding love of tobacco thanks to my grandparents' heavy smoking. I've always loved the smell of a freshly lit John Player Special ... the aroma will forever remind me of my maternal grandmother in her butter-coloured kitchen (I think the walls were actually painted white but that's what the smoke did to the walls) ... she puffed away, buttered her white bread (we always had to have bourgeois brown at home) still on the loaf and then sliced it. And she had a real live coal burner in the kitchen with glowing embers that fascinated my five year old self endlessly. I still remember having a bath in her butler sink or whatever they call it (a big deep kitchen sink//..whatever ..) standing up naked characteristically not caring. You ought to see my childhood snaps; they're a paedophile's dream. I always seemed to be walking about nude as a toddler/young baby. But point being I remember being little enough to not merely bathe but BATH in a sink. Wow, that is little. Well I've got to go now and slick my unconscionable hair back and get ready to present said flowers. ByEE!