Wednesday 3:40 p.m.
A second year kid was trying to sell me a ticket to a school concert this morning. Smart enough kid. It's only three pounds, he says. Sorry, says I. I've only got ten quid to do me till Monday. Ten quid probably seems like quite a lot to some kids. Come on, he says. Naw, says I. I've only got ten quid. But it's only three pounds for a ticket. If you buy a ticket, you'll have six quid left, he says. So three from ten is now six. Hmmm?
After the next election, I expect to become Dictator of Chilly Jockoland by spontaneous acclaim. My first act will be to get all the heads of all the primary schools, line them up against the wall, and shoot the fung lot of them.
A British Admiral once didn't attack and sink a French fleet like he should have, and he was put in front of a firing squad "Pour encourager les autres", as Voltaire said. There was no messing with the British navy after that.
I'm going out to do the Ravelstone Dykes run just now. The old, toothless one seems to have injured himself, so I'll be on my ownio.
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3 comments:
Mingin'! Certainly not! The admiral, by the way, was allowed to organise his own firing squad and he was the one who dropped the hanky. Hotboy p.s. Maybe that was a homo-erotic refence?
The second year kid could have a great future in banking.
Albert? You don't have to be able to do anything much to pass the goods in front of the beepy machine in Tescos. Hotboy
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