First up is the painful one – some good looking bloody
German bloke with tombstone teeth and a deep, gravelly voice making fast and
loose with my lady of the moment. I am not amused. I’m not. If I had my way he’d
be off to the eastern front by the midnight train, wearing only his rakish open
necked shirt and lederhosen one size too small. I assume lederhosen are cold in
the winter. I hope so.
Switching polarity…
I love these kids. I only discovered them this week, purely
by chance. I should imagine the whole of America loved them back in the
1930s, but even I don’t go that far back. This was a simpler age, when kids
behaved like kids because they ate food, not chemicals; an age when McDonalds
was but a black hole in its father’s eye.
And just to make the ratio of pleasure:pain a healthy 2:1, I
managed to get another bottle of Barnsley Blonde on the way back from the big
city. They didn’t have any last week, and this week’s batch tastes vaguely of
apples. Must be the time of year.
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