Floppy

The SK had dived off to Lidl on her way to meet a pal for a walk, so I settled myself to some tasks of an administrative nature, like reading the papers. But the tulips at my little workspace/nook were sad companions so I texted her. New flowers please! Arriving back a couple of hours later, she glanced over at my floppy blooms and whisked the jug off the table. Did you check if they needed the water topped up, she asked, peering into it. You know I didn’t, I replied, somewhat baffled at my own ineptitude. Bone dry! Do you think that could be it, I asked. 
Needful after that of doing something praiseworthy, I washed the windows. That was pretty much it.
But to the papers, I’ve only now caught up on that Prince Harry’s goings on. Apparently he’s appearing with Ms Markle on Oprah as they’ve chucked in all their dull old Royal duties like snipping ribbons on hospital openings and similar worthy stuff to live like bloody celebs out in Santa Barbara! And they’re whining about it. Someone tell her he’s not even a proper royal, his dad being a butler or horse rider or something. Honestly. That’s the question I’d ask. How come you look nothing like Charles, eh? And as for her claiming to be black, she’s indistinguishable from Jennifer Lawrence! Pair of frauds.
Tomorrow I shall re-write this but taking their side and telling the true story of the petty conservatism and racism at the heart of our rotten Royal family. Apart from the Queen, obvs, as she’s beyond reproach on any telling.
I may have to put it behind a pay-wall as I see money could be made here.