..simulation of the World War I trenches from Flanders. I like poppies, don't you? The look so lively and bright with their pretty red faces bobbing above the..
...horrifically mangled corpses of young men. Fine, strong young men, called to do their duty. Fine gardeners all! But no good as bomb disposal experts. Oh well! That reminds me, one of them was called Jimmy and his last words to me were...
..Miss Farquar-Harrington, the geography teacher, she always used to lean over our shoulders to explain something but we could never hear a thing as her ample bosom used to muffle our ears. She also used to have terrible BO which she tried to disguise with cheap perfume from Woolworth which used to smell of aniseed. I think it was called...
...Shmoo or somthing like that! The other thing about Miss Farquar-Harrington that springs to mind was her amazing quiff of black greasy hair. It was thought that she got the idea for it from....
...written by a meat eater with a twisted sense of humour. The recipe for Tofu with chick peas and black bean sauce, for example, included lamb's eyes, pig's trotters and...
...refused to ignite properly. That was when I knew there was something fishy about the recipe (besides the shark steak and cans of tuna) as I never previously had a problem with incendiary cooking, whether purposely or no. I earned the Pulitzer Prize for my letter of complaint to that magazine, which of course...
That Dennis the Menace had already thought of that scam. Ah, well! Returning for a moment to Mr Llewelyn, the local bookie. I sems like only yesterday that I found that £50 note outside the Labour Exchange and nipped in to the betting shop and placed £25 each way on Foinavon in the Grand National. How we celebrated that night (all except Mr Llewelyn, that is), down at the Aligator and Ferret. Why, that was when I first discovered that....
... conduct myself in a manner befitting my regal status; unfortunately, shortly after making everyone in the pub kneel before me, I passed out. The next morning ...
...it was all over the tabloids that I had the makings of a fine Russian leader in me. Unfortunately, it was also all over the broadsheets that some Bolshevik Fundamentalists wished to claim my life in the name of eternal communism, so then and there I had to...
...take up dancing. I'd had ballet lessons as a youngster so I thought, the Bolshevik's could use a good dancer in the Bolshoi. Heck, even the names are similar. So I wrote away for a tutu. Imagine my surprise when the postman arrived one day, accompanied by...