mole on Lifestyle
abass mohammed@mohammedabass484730
30 days ago
I often look back on my callow youth, and when I do a smile flits across my now mature but pitted face. I hardly recognize the naĭ̈ve boy I once was. To think that I once believed that Evelyn Waugh was a woman! of course now, with a couple of 'O' levels under my belt, i am far more sophisticated and I know that Evelyn Waugh should he be alive today , would be very, indeed, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 proud of his daughter, Auberon; because of course Evelyn is the 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 of Auberon and not as I once thought,
the mother.
l occassionally glance through my early diaries and mourn for my lost innocence, for at the age of thirteen and three quarters, I thought it was sufficient to just have a 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.
I honestly didn't know then that you 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 just have a life. You have a 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑒.
So my talk today is about 'Lifestyle' , with particular reference to my own.
I will take you through a typical day. I will introduce you to my friends and family. I will refer fleetingly to my diet, toilet habit and my style of dress. My tastes in Art and Literature will be dwelt upon. At the end of my talk perhaps you will have an overview of my lifestyle. Incidentally, and by the way, 'overview' is just one of the thousand of words in my vocabulary, and with a bit of luck I will introduce other common words to you, the listening masses. For I am solely aware of my duty via Radio Four to 𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒 and entertain the great British public. For how else are they to rise up and take power if they don't understand the words of power? Or the power of words? I have been told by my contemporaries that I am quite a trendsetter, although pandora, the love of my life, maintains that 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 is a word only used by crumblies and people with one foot in the crematorium. For instance my style of dress is idiosyncratic. Indeed it is personal to myself. Since radio is not television I will describe what I am wearing at the moment. I will start at the head and work down , to save any confusion. On my head I am wearing a balaclava helmet knitted by my ancient yet nimble-fingered Grandma. I am wearing balaclava helmet because my father refuses to switch the central heating on until the end of this month at november first every year. He cares not that English summer does not exist anymore. As usual he is being selfish and thinking about paying the boring gas bill.
We move down.
to be continued.
