...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...
..-flavoured pants. This disturbing state of affairs led directly (in my and my psychiatrist Dr Syncope's opinion) to the terrible events that followed. Even now, I still get terrible flashbacks, and even worse, I still can't wash the taste from my mouth, no matter how many pints of Creme de Menthe I drink! Though I shudder to say it...