"By gum, you've still got it!" nobbed the burglar. But what did he know, lilting as he did on wind and sail, egg and barley, steam and more than a hint of cornflake gayness. "Better out than up a fig pole, I suppose."
And with that he turned to Lincolnshire and watched as most of the population expired in drainpipe trousers. Or was it the bulbous one, with the fish antlers? In days to pass, they never could remember. Each was too busy with the passing of the new slurry horse, writing it large and taking much inspiration from the fat man's daughter and her enviable collection of fridge magnets.
"Have you been at the sugar crisps again?" asked Auntie Emma with a knowing look in her one unwinking eye, as she stroked his pies. He never did reply, just pulled a face like Steve Lincoln in high wind, and wombled off into the distance.
PART 4
ReplyDelete78% of all this was lost on the pastry chefs of Upper Eastbourne, who had managed to create a false impression in the Dundee hillside using bayonettes and unused water ferret tablets. What this meant was a high level of flexible cows being born in Somerset, because, adjacent to the fiery sunset peelings of Mary Ann Brooderhosen, there was no way they could avoid the smog and expired library books.
Clive Pugenall took all of this fairly amicably by reciting the opening stanza of a Bay City Rollers hit "Saturday night" which would have made perfect sense had it not been for the fowl buzzard droppings being thrown on him from a third story window at the Hellingay Flower Show corporate offices. This was way too much for him to handle, but handle it he did, and covered it with the fractal carpetings of 28 highly trained Italian centipedes who had been badly burned in a wind tunnel experiment the year before. Oblivious to their condition (as they did not have a mirror) they chewed on the paperwork of one Ivy Demetrikov, who had written a long poem about rustic life in the Canterberry bagpipe factory... hang on, no she didn't.. I am getting confused.. it was Peter Mongolot who wrote that.. whatever was I thinking??? Anyway, the more this happened, the more the Norwegian foot massagers descended on Hartley Witney, amidst the rumblings of the deep water lillies. This was totally unnoticed of course, except by Mark Stortenough, who went and told everyone except the people who really mattered.. and so, like much of recorded history, no one knew the true story until Betty Undergoiter mentioned it in a drunken rage outside the Upper Plucknett Police Station. Thankfully, no one believed her, and so as you can imagine, sales of scarves with bright tinted violins emblazened on the top left corner, sold like magpies in a crowded phone booth.