The hordes are unleashed!
The end is nigh!
Do you want a sandwich?
Anyway, there I was standing in the middle of the car park with my weasel racket in my hand. I had adopted the stance of a potential Conservative candidate for the local elections, and was - therefore - quietly biding my time until Petunia had fully lubricated all the voles in the bucket.
Suddenly, out of the blue, as true as I'm sitting here on the 8:15 from Tewksbury, next to a naked Latvian pole-dancer who is doing intricate crochet work with par-boiled spaghetti strands, suddenly… suddenly… nothing happened - twice!
Barely had Petunia and I got over this when - just as suddenly - quite without warning - nothing happened again - another three times!
In shock at this turn of events, Petunia dropped the seventeenth vole into the bucket whilst it was still only partially lubricated.
As someone of your wide experience must already know, this is a terribly dangerous thing to let happen. Immediately, the fully-lubricated voles set upon their semi-lubricated sibling and began - en-masse - to attempt to sell him double-glazing.
From that moment Petunia and I realised we had very little time before the hordes massed and turned their wrath, and high-pressure sales techniques, upon us.
Prudently, we ran for the hills like politicians about to be caught on a 'fact-finding mission' in a Brazilian brothel by tabloid photographers.
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