Here and now, or – if you prefer – over there and a week next Tuesday is the time when we all must consider the state of our bejewelled orgy kneepads and whether they will last another orgy season or not, especially considering how often the spaniels of your loquaciousness have gambolled across the lawns of your desire this year.
‘But, hold!’ you may very well say, and – if you look carefully you will see that I am already holding myself in readiness for any such ejaculation on your part*. ‘How do you know about what my spaniels of loquaciousness do or do not do across the lawns of my desire?’
I – for one, or if you are in the mood, for two or three – will then just smile my sweetest smile that hints at all the secrets I am privy to. Then, and only then endeavour to change the subject, and – quite possibly – your undergatherings to something a little more risqué for the time of year, without of course running the danger of exposing your wherewithal to the dangers of a sudden sharp frost.
Then we can think about going to water the lupins.
*And may I take this opportunity to say what a splendid part it is.