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# Cul-De-Sac.
Off. Fuck.
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 1:57, archived)
# Have you seen the prices?
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:01, archived)
# Ere
You may have ten pee off, but it's not much good when they find your head on the driving range, now is it?
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:05, archived)
# Is it christmas yet?
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:08, archived)
# all you'll get
is a stale walnut mate.
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:10, archived)
# ?
I can recall the day quite clearly:
a Friday in July, a sweltering eighty degrees.
Martin Jarvis was completing his week in Dictionary Corner.
He'd been reassuringly average.
Somewhere in the Shires surgeons had entered the mind of Mr Stinchcombe
and found black apes gibbering on dark lawns.
I'd spent the afternoon becoming increasingly frustrated with the grooving agitator on my lime Dyson.
I was due in Parbold at 7.15 and wasn't going to make it.
Telephoning the person who needed to know this
I found myself caught up on a crossed line, something I'd not experienced for years.
I listened in with quiet delight.
It appeared that someone called Bill, whilst out walking the bounds that morning,
had looked into Top Acre and been horrified to see
the almost visible ribcage of a foal
which belonged to the straggle-haired girl from Keeper's Cottage
whose name, if this was a Helen Fielding novel,
would be something like Martha Flanagan.
But the countryside is never as romantic as townsfolk believe it to be
And the girl's name was Karen Henderson...
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:12, archived)
# *applauds*
top acre will never seem the same again.
(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:19, archived)
# sleepy time
the painkillers are kicking in at last.

time to doze off to "CSI:Ambleside", and dream of a day that isn't "National Shite Day".

(, Thu 10 Jul 2008, 2:33, archived)