Dearest international and marvy chummly wummlies,
Yes, once again I have given you my all (oo-er), so here is Love Is a Many Trousered Thing. And it is, believe me.
I wanted it to be called Trouser Snakes-a-gogo! but the grown-ups said that was too rude. I had the same trouble with And That’s When It Fell Off in My Hand—the Hamburger-a-gogo “grown-ups” said that was too rude.
I said, “How do you mean? Do you mean that you think it might be something about a boy’s trouser-snake addenda?”
And they said, “Yes.”
And I said, “But if that came off in your hand, that would not be a comedy diary, that would be a medical book.” But you can’t tell people.
So you see how vair, vair tiring the whole thing can be. But I struggle out of my bed of pain again only because I luuurve you all so much.
Lots of kisses, but not in a lezzie way,
P.S.
You will also notice that Jas has introduced the idea of virtual upper-body fondling to the snogging scale. This is typical of what I have to put up with.
P.P.S.
If you have a Jas in your life, EAT HER––it’s the only sensible thing to do.
P.P.P.S.
Even though I’m vair, vair tired, it’s come to my attention that there are some people who haven’t read my diaries before and keep asking me stuff about the ace gang, and the snogging scale, and disco inferno dancing. So for those vair, vair lazy people, I’ve added some lists of things at the back of the book.