Your Flowers & My Pee-Pee Juice

Cash & snuggly coats were forgotten in the mad dash to the finish line. The previous day's scrumptious, but ultimately deadly, volatile & probably radioactive scrumpy was not on hand to light our way. We could not bathe in its warm, orangey glow as the piscean hidey-hole was conscripted back into action for the thankfully dying embers of this year's critically acclaimed birthday season.

Creamy cakes of delicious jam & crunch were consumed, while pressies waited unopened for an interminable length of age as some of our number were waylaid by monkeys. Once their genitals were safely back in their respective boxes the revels could begin. Mistress Clo-bo held court under her stately Stella umbrella, fully boozed-up after an exhausting day's carpet soiling.

And then the final act was upon us. The orgasmic sound of torn paper filled the air, drowning out the drunken witterings of passing yobbos. We sneakily sidled past the police & other Irish dangers until the twin dilemmas of school bullies & Bruce Willis were washed away by the heady brew of tea & peas.


Currently listening: The Very Best Of Bucks Fizz by Bucks Fizz