Ah a sedate evening at the theatre for me and Norma. On the way home we stopped off at our local curry establishment and ordered two takeaway korma meals with boiled rice.
Norma drove us slowly home whilst I took care to balance the currys on my lap, being careful not to spill any. It was at this juncture that Norma decided to turn on the radio. The aggressive noise was hurtful to my ears and I almost tilted the curry ensemble past the diagonal which nearly led to its spilling on my trousers. With this near escape I asked Norma to turn the volume down and we drove back in silence.
On getting home I prepared two mugs of gosh, what was it that we drunk, oh yes two mugs of piping Ovaltine. Norma sat by the fire for a little while perusing the newspapers, while I retired upstairs with my mug, taking with me the latest edition of Wisden Magazine.
When, twenty minutes later, Norma came up to bed I was quite cheerful having read about our trumping the Indians at the Oval. (Though I was also a little sad that the Little Master had not been able to reach his hundredth hundred).
It was at this point that Norma slumped onto the bed and caused me to spill Ovaltine onto myself. I was splashed all down my front and the crotchal area and let out a sharp cry at the experience.
Norma tried to comfort me, but in my distressed state I was of no use to anyone. We both decided to call it a day and went to sleep.