Rosie's Midlife Krisis.

Deer Gerry Anderson, it panes me to say it, butt the receptable of your love and affliction is suffering from a midlife krisis. Every morning I wake up misconstrued and repressed. Dark visions haunt me and my eek-way librum is up the Swanny. I peer into the dark tunnel of life like a ferret. Seeking hope, the persuit of happiness and the life-giving nourishment of brilliant, illuminated-lite. All is dark. All is gloomy. All is the reverse of, "With a hey and a hoe and a hey-nonny-noo".
What a fierce, tarra hanlin' that Rosie Ryan, beauty and brainaic should be waylaid on her journey through life bye thoughts of unattainable somberness and inexplicable yearnings. Last nite, when going through Kays katalogue my menthol instability forced me to order a pink thong and a toy bugle!!!!!!!
I have more chance of getting into the bugle than I have of getting into the thong.
UNPREDICTABLY, in all its many guises has taken kontrol of my brane. I am as a wind-blown kite, a rudderless ship.
A leaf, falling from an Autumnal tree. Spinning and swirling at the mercy of the wind. Knowing knot if I wool fall on good ground, the weeds which abound in the hedgerows or the stones who reside in profussion bye the high-way.
In desperation Dan, I mean-Gerry, in desperation I fell to my knees and preyed to the Mother of peculiar sucker. The results of my imploring was, diddly-squat. So one day in the throes of a fierce midlife krisis, I donned brown, duffle coat and set off confused, preplexed and highly agitated to sea the doctor. I burst into the doctors surgery and offered to, "Drop them" but the doctor told me to take a seat and give vocal utterances to my ills. "MIDLIFE KRISIS!" I yelled. "A midlife krisis has came upon me like a thief in the nite".
I was subscribed hard core tranquillization in the hope that transquillization would transform my state of turmoil into tranquility.
I took the little green, capstans religiously for too weaks. After submitted myself to quackery on a grand and glorious scale. My midlife krisis has increased by leaps and bounds. Knot only that, my hare is falling out, one eye has drooped and my stools have turned puce!!!
Needless to say, a sharp letter ritten in green crayon is winging its way to the Medical Kouncil.
My doctor advised me to, keep taking the tablets. I adviced the doctor to take a swim with the other ducks in the pond. "QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!" was my final riposte before I stamped out, slamming the door behind me.
I have returned to the religion of my four fathers and three mothers. Every nite I fall to my knees beside the po and prey. "Oh Mother of peculiar sucker, remove this damned auld midlife krisis what is hanging over me like a hangmans hood. . Bring back my gaity de-tour and optimalization. Oh Mother! OH Mother of peculiar sucker give me a window of opportunity to dive through like a swallow flying back to its nest. Where there is war, let me bring piece. Where there is death, let me bring tea and sugar for the wake. Where there is hate, let me bring lamour and where there is doubt, let me bring clarity and transparancey. Now! and at the moment of us deaths-AMIN". If that doesn't work, I will be forced to turn to the black arts, in which I am well versed!.