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
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