It delights me to be able to tell you that Mrs Trellis has broken her long silence.
Dear Anglea Merkel, she
writes, I have to say I agree with you that men ought to sit down to
tinkle. They are such messy creatures, aren't they? The front of my
husband, the late Mr Trellis, for instance, was permanently encrusted
with porridge, and the lower half of him, well, delicacy prevents me
from being more specifical, but I will tell you that when he took off
his trousers at night, he used to stand them in the corner.
Yours in sisterly solidarity
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs,
widow, retd, fastidious.
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