After a period of post-festivities ennui, things are coming up to speed again. I have threatened to set fire to Groida's dummy, Cludgiebreath, if the buffoon doesn't cease and desist from his pathetic vocal strangulations.
Alternatively, I suppose we could raise some cash by charging the locals admission to laugh at him, as in the good old days of Bedlam. Sod, I just chortled at the notion and the gobstopper I was sucking shot out of my mouth and rolled under the sofa. I'll retrieve it later with a coat hanger and rinse it under a tap. Waste not, want not.
Auntie Pamela has persuaded Hairy Jacob to take an extended holiday in Nova Scotia and is now manageress of the fish bar. Her plan is to expand the menu to include Chinese cuisine, which would at least help shift the cargo of tinned pineapple in shaft 3.
However, I have reservations about her employing "ethnically accurate" staff, especially as she intends recruiting in London's Chinatown. You may recall the hoo-ha with the Triads there last year, when she guzzled her way through several restaurants without paying.
Hopefully all mega-scorpions look alike to them, but I still think she is skating on thin ice with her proposed return visit during their New Year celebrations later this month. I reckon it would be safer to bring down some of the Glasgow Mafia. At least we would have the novel experience of their legendary deep-fried panettone.
But there is no arguing with Auntie P (unless you are up for a vicious towsing). Whichever mob she eventually hitches up with, Janet Radcliffe Richards help them, and probably us too.
I hear guttural cries in the distance. Groida is at it again. No one should make noises like that unless in excruciating pain. Shortly the dolt will learn that.
No comments:
Post a Comment