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.