Hullo,
Justin here. Well, not exactly “here”
in the sense that I’m writing this in my study, behind the chapel
organ or whilst concealed in the gardener’s wheelie bin. I’m sad
to say that I’ve had to move again to a really secret location
after a disturbing visit from two gentlemen who appeared to know my
very own young man with the wire in his ear. All three appeared
unannounced in my study as I was busy with newspapers, scissors and
Pritt, preparing anonymous letters to Wonga.
Neither gent offered his name. Both
wore sunglasses. When I asked whence they came, both tapped the sides
of their noses and winked. In unison.Then one said, “Boots”. Both
chuckled ominously. Then I was told in no uncertain terms that I
should “back off” and stop making pronouncements about issues of
public interest such as the ridiculous high speed train, pay-day
loans, that nit-wit Michael Gove, badger killers, bombing Syria, and
obscenely over-paid footballers.
I was aghast. So much so that my
digestive biscuit broke and fell into my tea. Both gentlemen had been
offered refreshments by the ever-present Mrs Crabtree who, incidentally, has served tea and biscuits to three Archbishops.
Naturally, I protested, rising to my
feet and striking my desk top with enough force to make my bronze
figurine of St Francis of Assisi wobble dangerously.
I then suggested that these two
mysterious strangers should leave. This they did but not before one
turned and said, “We have ways of making your life very unpleasant." Then, as I moved to usher them to the door, my trousers fell
down.
Gosh, purple boxers. Top drawer from all good clerical outfitters and suppliers of ecclesiastical vestments.
ReplyDeleteSays Justin, "Actually, no - they were a present last Christmas from my lady wife and originate from an odd company called, apparently, F.U.C.K. I can't quite remember the order of those initials, but that's close enough. "
ReplyDelete