A mate of mine from Belfast,
whom we will call Jack for the sake of argument, was making his unsteady way home from a club one night with a group of friends when he walked past one of those large triangular 'STOP' signs on the pavement.

Aha, said Jack to himself. That'd look lovely in the corner of my bedroom.

He picked up the sign in a manner akin to a Womble hurdling, since it was bulky and triangular and he was rotund and wasted. Thus waddling down the High Street he devoted so much of his attention to balancing and holding on to his treasure that he failed to notice Plod standing right in front of him.

Plod: "You've got thirty seconds to decide whether to put that back where it came from or spend the night in the cells."
Jack: "Fairrrrrr enough..."
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 19:26, Reply)