I'm now imagining you sitting back in the cockpit, holding the steering column between your knees
as you crack open a bottle of wine to wash down another croissant, before you plot a course to another boulangerie, anticipating the clamour as a sleepy French village is woken up by the sound of a Harrier hovering over their town square.

The towering, bearded English Viking brings the jet to a halt tidily, next to the fountain and lifts the canopy, handing out photos of his genitalia to the young, moist, highly experienced French peasant girls who are now flocking round his aircraft. He gropes the breast of one well-endowed girl, who looks up into his eyes appreciatively. He holds up a half-eaten croissant in his other hand, gives her a sly wink and says,
"Be a good girl," and pats her on the arse gratefully as she scurries off to the boulangerie.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 18 Jun 2010, 12:04, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

I think I've found my biographer

( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 18 Jun 2010, 12:05, Reply)