Mrs Rose

My parents ran a pharmacy and Mrs Rose came in twice a week to “do” in the house:  vacuuming, dusting and so forth. I was about 13 and watching the Trooping Of The Colour on TV – there wasn’t much on the TV in the daytime then – and  Mrs Rose emitted the following opinion to my mother, IN MY 13-YEAR-OLD PRESENCE:

“The Queen’s always had a good bosom, hasn’t she?”

I repeat: I was 13. I swear you could hear my intestinal mental deckchairs folding themselves up and putting themselves away.

 

 

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