I Smell of Bums

My Dear Princess, Loulou and Fellows,

No, not me. I mean. I might smell of bums. You tell me. But the title of today's blip refers to Punky. Who smells of bums.

This is because he is sitting in the pooey knickers bag that I took with me to Blenheim. I was very impressed with myself, because I normally forget to bring a pooey knickers bag, and have to stuff pooey knickers into one of those weird pockets on the side of my overnight travel bag. 

Do you do this too?

And there's never enough room in the weird pocket for ALL the pooey knickers. So you have to put at least one pair of pooey knickers into a corner of your overnight travel bag, and wedge it into a corner with your spare pair of shoes and weigh it down with your deodourant and hope that your bag doesn't get too shifted around in transit. 

Because if your bag DOES get too shifted around too much, the pooey knickers might escape, which is always the ultimate aim of pooey knickers. They wish to run wild in your overnight travel bag. To run amok and then you get home with your overnight travel bag hours later and move the deodourant and your spare pair of shoes and find the pooey knickers have ABSCONDED.

You'll find them later in your bag, wrapped in an embrace around your toothpaste. The evil plan of pooey knickers everywhere. 

But not this time, pooey knickers. This time I am onto you! I brought along this red pooey knickers bag and THERE YOU SHALL STAY.

My plan worked. But the next day I found that the pooey knickers had LURED my poor little cat into the bag with them. 

And now he smells of bums. Damn you, pooey knickers. You win again.

S.