Ashes to Ashes?

Dear Pudding/Tricycle Hybrid:

The 1980s – rolled up sleeves, highly coiffured dimple sentinels, a charming terracotta recovery facility in Zambia, five summers wrappped up in an excess of the letter ’p’ (actually giving ‘ psummerp, psummerp, psummerp, psummerp, psummerp’) – how long ago it all seems……and yet the puerility of gentle turnip-beaters have come to evolve themselves by asking questions which have only more questions, questions, questions as their answers. The classic example of this is “Who ate all the pies?” = “The topsoil of my windowbox has mystically aligned itself to Aunt Dorothea’s chakra points which live by the seaside near the 50p slot in the tray of the second till position down near where Jadwat does that thing you wish you could do – namely stand behind a steam engine restoration project, sporting a fashionable cowling made from sandpaper once owned by a freshly perceived rabbit and make noises akin to cups of brown tea as the
bewteefull laydees promenade by.

The way seagulls emphasize hard-boiled eggs has always amazed me. As I sit here, the grandchildren have already dug 2 holes in the lawn and will be duly synchronizing avec the Bakerloo line when it pops out behind the hedges of floribunda which disguise the shed so brambolic cretinoids do not placate the entirety of the garden into a valid status of bidding on e-bay for teeth scraping, Honolulu sunsets and choice pickles.

Back to front (as they say)

Merv Tibbles

Gums are tasty, that's why they're in your mouth!

Dear Leddo the undeniable shoebox

Gala club sandwich + Orpington milk float = idiotic tarantula syndrome.

Tame to the touch, but indigo to the ears, Flamella Plolodes is probably the only surviving example of the 'get me that stick Grandad' style of anti-peltch protester. In worms she found a comfort rare outside of a box of newts, and so it came to pass that Uncle Daggers bought her an entire ladle, with which she could be seen gaily skipping along the towpaths on a summer's eve, grunting at goats and showing her front bottom to the boaters in their boaters.

By the way, that Lily Savage is a bloke!

Insiquious Tidgels of Po!

Eventually the laughter subsided. It was ascertained that Mary had meant to say 'Jus de banane' and not 'jeu de banane'. She was really not that sort of a girl, after all.
Cascanne suggested they all went into the courtyard to play a new version of Swine Whoopee, but as scaffolding was still a feature of the way modern builders chose to work on the outside of buildings, it was voted down, and the seagull formally know (not formerly known) as Fulmar No. 14 produced his pinball certificate for general perusal.
'Gont naught ginniad flaxen bubbers,' remarked Cheld, miming a special little olive language at the congregated guppy squad-cars.
The Filton narks came down hard on him for that one.
By the light of the silvery milk, maverick sleuth Corny Titbins, a tightly-quiffed but delicate map-defiler, rutted his mumps coyly, and Boney Sue purpled in a kind of happy.

The Crunchy Rabbits of Finniston Farm

.....so why ask about furthering your reptilian skull with episodes of ‘Plinth Sorority’ with Brett Trundle-Paddleman as two characters making up numbers that don’t ever none exist – a bit like Sean Lock when he boiled a picture frame as part of his, well, he calls it his …..’research’.

They had put him there with his Estebee Lordy make-up from them girls with orange fizzogs in Cavvy Hois in MontyWine Bub at top of Monty in flammin’ Cheltenham (where Mummy drives an X5 and still wears sunglasses when it don’t need ‘em) and it was great as the granite worksurface came from an old Cornish tin mine in Tuscany and the overhead lights, were in fact, made of lard which itself was conducive as the viscous lipids would silently drip on posh folks yuds as they gathered below and required fine Chardonnay wines that cousin Guy gets from a chap he knows over the channel helipad from above but when the piping hot parrot that was observing this from the corner, he became photocopier.

With great savoi, the Wilmslow man recorded all of his with his magic thumb and for years afterwards dined out on the substrate of mental (some would say regal) nativity these long 37 years since Dar Dowling said about having the beans twice and stooped as he knuckled down to look at the goldfish and carp that his own legs had in fact become.

Paper was still folded, yeah – drinks, nobody, gnomes etc this is true but the Jovian Exhibition Of Lever Arch Folder & Astronaut Training Project yielded a good return on your guaranteed investment by usurping the better cases of diphtheria as an intrinsic demographic model whereby the 1976 telly programme of ‘Caligula’ was where they Roman and historyfied themselves with cavorting at ‘oooh look at her, my liege - all a bit base really, sniff, sniff’. Even though the shoe shop had to close after this, it was swiftly opened up again as another shoe shop but this didn’t last very long either – pity really as they did a lovely wrought-iron Sunday dinner which really put paid to that packet of scotch eggs you like to crouch behind periodically.

100 Staples have meetings not legs

Dear NABC

“Has Soggy Tomash neutralized the boatymen yet?” enquired Vendetta-Saab (the Swedish automobile that liked to hold onto a grudge) as he Brenda Parks needs her front garden tidying up like not eating trubs, pubs or Witchitty Grubs! So, Holland & Barrett adverts away to bed please and as this was going on, a silver halide suspended in an amniotic cortex of 2nd-chain radicals became sausage-like and earned itself a stylishly flamboyant extra brownie point extra (extra) by examining trains and thinking about the ramifications of them in period costume a la per pro regardez les dance by D. Bowie.

This had been noted by Marcus who had shone a giddy-light into a crucible full of shape-shifters who were besmirched with the colour of the writing in the kebab shop which was now moving silently throughout the neutral zone they go on about in Star Trek agan + agin = again. This is hoping to again just about prove what kind of a thing he must possibly know about Tobermory Plunkett, him whose, whose mum has been dressed by Mike Pike who got the gig after demonstrating how not to confuse things with geese at last year’s Nettleton Rd Raft Water Race which was cancelled when bison fell on a passing bare bear, there-there, Trafalgar Square and knock-knocks on the joke.

“Can anyone vouch for Podmaster?” was the freely designed sequel to the Garden of Apes whereby Jerrim Locktassel was boyishly feeding chimps with a back to basics bag of bits as he watched The Brits, swam with Mark Spitz and a form of Tourettes when he used to point at tractors and nod sagely even though his shuttlecraft motif was wearing a bit thin now and there was dust along the top of the radiator in the mince pies.

We will never know because Mickey hasn’t told us.