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Right, chaps, bit of a problem. With the weather, I think. Yes, that's right, rain, wind, whoosh, big storms, floods. Cripes. Hurricane Ken I'm calling it, what? Right then. Gosh. Hands out of pockets, stop playing trouser ping-pong, put on serious face time. So um, yes, run for the hills, we're all going to die from a big storm. A very big storm. What would Granny Butter do? Cripes. Yes, chaps, make for the airports. Or better still, take the bus. The big, red, shiny Routemaster bus. I love 'em, don't you? Bring 'em back, that's what I say. I did say, didn't I? Crumbs. Anyhoo, head for the bus or those other things, those long things, the ones that pull out of stations, lots of steam, Choo Choo! So that's it, chaps. Wrap up warm and um, look after yourself. I'm off to Tuscany. Ciao.
3 comments:
Only Boris would be slightly less eloquent...
Probably, "Oh wiff waff, we evented storms....."
Norah - you should be on 'Have I Got News'.
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