Sometimes it is all a bit sort of thingy. Other times it is all a bit whatsit, especially when the doodah has gone all oohjamaflip. However, if the thingy has gone all doodah, than the wassername can get a bit howsyourfather, as I’m sure a person of your wit, sophistication and erudition must be supremely aware. You can’t, as the old saying goes, teach your grandma how to suck off sailors down around the back of the docks, so therefore I will not trouble you further with what now seems obviously a rather trivial observation.
However, and I feel this could be the important point; it is not always obvious where to put the butter, especially if the hippopotamus is somewhat nervous around ballet dancers. Which is, I suppose, rather straightforward. After all, who can honestly say they are not nervous around ballet dancers, especially if there is some doubt about the full integrity of the corned beef tin at the time? I know there have been too many times when I have felt a certain amount of trepidation when in the vicinity of those who are about to undertake certain terpsichorean endeavours while I have had some tinned of meat on, or about, my person. Modern dance whilst holding a tin of Spam is always – I’m sure you will agree – somewhat problematical, especially when the wind is North-easterly.
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