I'm still frond of you...

One step forward - the bilge pump repaired and put in situ, (what sort of garbled talk is this?) but eff me if I struggled unsuccessfully getting the calorifier hooked up to its six effing pipes. The engine circulatory hose ends were quite perished under their jubilee clips, so I trimmed them back and then struggled some more. Eventually I threw in the towel. If they’re that bad I really ought to replace them. 
So home and washed and still swearing at myself we legged it out along the front to the famed Dreadnought, there to meet up with imindoors and erindoors. Yes, the indoors, the baith. And he brought along his impressively huge new camera. We only brought our impressively long winded new Oz tales. No, of course, we hardly mentioned them. I tell you though, his missus woman, you need to exercise care there - she seems to know everyone. Even a bloke I mentioned in passing that I’d met once and almost gone into The Anchor with (yep, another winning tale) - she says, is he a lawyer? He is. Or was. And my pal MrW, she knows all about him too. All about.
There is of course another explanation - I reckon she reads my blips!  Seriously. That’s possible, isn’t it? 
It's not, is it.