I’m still a bit fascinated by the murderess who just wants
to be a princess and be rescued by a man, so much so that I found myself in
conversation with her while I was in Ashbourne today:
‘What’s your name, Princess?’
‘Guess.’
‘Er… Snow White.’
‘Nope. More syllables.’
‘Rapunzel?’
‘Nope. Still more syllables.’
‘Oh, right. Must be Pocahontas, then.’
‘Nope. A lot more syllables than that.’
‘More than Pocahontas?’
‘Many more.’
‘OK, I give up. What is your name?’
‘It’s Princess Goidsargi Estibaliz Carranza Zabala.’
‘Blimey. All one person?’
‘Yes, but I have many strings to my bow. Would you like to
see inside one of my ice cream freezers?’
‘I suppose so. Do you have vanilla?’
‘Of course. I think there’s room in that one.’
‘Room for what?’
‘Shit!’
Bang.
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