Well, anyway, there she was with her doodahs all like a wossname at thingamajig, so all I could do was get the whatchamacallit out and polish it… furiously. As I said to the vicar at the time: ‘you don’t get many of them to the pound’, especially now when we have to dance in metric.
However, when she got the bagpipes out the vicar made his excuses and left. That is the sort of thing you have to expect with vicars, bringing religion into it and spoiling it for the rest of us. However, once the vicar had pedalled away, leaving with the harmonium in a very precarious position on the back of his unicycle, she locked the bagpipes back in their cage and got the Ludo board out.
So, all’s well that ends well, except for the dull ache in the back of the thighs and still – even now – all these weeks later she still has a tendency to blush when anyone offers her a teacake.
However, as I’ve said before – once or twice – sometimes you have to be careful when she gets her doodahs out, insisting that we all sing along. Still, her from down the road at number 32 did that dance she does when she’s had a few too many advocaats, so that made the evening rather more memorable than would be the case, even for a Thursday.
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