Broom (7)

BROOM (7)

I was cleaning my keyboard with a feminine wipe when the one with the hoola-hoop started to snipe (again).

She said:

'Well, we took ourselves off on an Easy Jet flight. We walked through the day; slept rough every night. (A porch on the first day, a woodshed the second: by the third night a wooden play-house kind of beckoned. So, we swept it clean with a broom and, despite being cramped, we had just enough room to sleep like proverbial logs. We were, after all, tired as dogs.)

'We traversed eighty miles in just over three days. Up mountains, down valleys: I remain quite amazed that we never felt mardy or hungry or sad. Yet, one day in the work-place and I'm feeling quite bad.

'My stomach is cramping, my face is all flushed. (By the way, there are crumbs where you've polished and brushed.) My face is all flushed and my sinuses ache. My sense of well-being is always at stake in this place.

'Tell me, why should this be?

'Is this normal, or, particular to me?'