Intimate stuff

One more note on physical habits turned ritual. Beloved claims that the regularity of his habits - eating sleeping drinking exercising defecating whatever- is a necessary means of physical well-being, whereas Granny's indiscipline in such respects is bound to lead to irritable guts, sleep disorder, pulled muscles, you name it.

This leaves Granny with a happy vision of her organs jostling for attention, jumping up and down inside her squeaking 'my turn, granny..' or complaining vigorously among themselves: eg liver to kidney 'hey, you've had two goes and I haven't had one, it's not FAIR' - or stomach to heart - 'isn't it time you did some of the work you lazy so and so instead of leaving it all to me? - can't you see I'm snowed under?'

Beloved's organs on the other hand, far from sighing in elysian content, are groaning with boredom. 'God here we are day after day doing the same thing at the same time, how about a little variety round here, how about some change? BOR-ING. BOR-ING.'
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Granny apologises for this. (To you, readers, not to the contents of her and Beloved's insides. Well or badly treated, they can fend for themselves, have been doing so for more years than they care to count.)