Sink Plunger, anyone?

I’m not offering you one, berk, the WB is here and I need a plumber.  Or anyone with the ability to plunge.  Plunge,  hmmm, coffee.  Could do with being in a coffee shop right now: the writer in me has disappeared to one.  My body is on this sofa though.

Fragmented thoughts, including what time is lunch (where I suspect the white-bread ham and cheese will finish up with the same ending as WB).

When you’re going through poo, keep going.   Words attributed to Winston Churchill, I believe, though I’ve modified the noun, and excrement or faeces are too technical.   Poo is fun.  It’s time I was off.  To tidy, to clean, to poetise, to shortise, to novelise, to realise I’m

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