The Almighty Gods Of The Allen Key

If we put the spanners out in the car park, then we can re-tune the ukulele without any of the usual chafing around the edge of the fishpond. That is, of course if you have remembered to oil the weasel racquets, my little quantity surveyor.

Anyway, if you have already assembled the wardrobe by this time, without recourse to cursing the almighty gods of the Allen key, then we will move on to take a look at what we can do with the petunias. That is, once our rather interesting lady-friend has weeded the herbaceous borders whilst wearing only the thigh-length black leather boots and a Tyrolean hat.

We then place the wardrobe slightly to the left of the petunias so that the door opens out into the herbaceous border in such a manner as to leave most of the waterfowl unperturbed by any excessive gestures made by the weatherman as the unseasonable cold spell bears down on his unprepared weather maps.

Then, of course, once our rather underdressed lady-gardener has managed to screw her courage to the sticking place, using the remaining sellotape if necessary, we can then move on to see if we can interest the waterfowl in ordering something from the mail order catalogues. Then, and only then, we will have to make our way back over the car park towards where we left the shopping trolley.