A Rather Odd Collection of Aunts

So where do we go once the pilchards are safely secreted amongst the bowler hats, my little fire engine? Oh, do not speak to me of chainsaws now that we no longer have to use the wheelbarrows to make our escape across the beaches of this once-great nation as your rather odd collection of aunts chase us and attempt to sell us double glazing as they race behind us mounted on donkeys and each carrying a small pocket guide to edible mushrooms.

Still, as long as we do not make the mistake of tarrying while we attempt to put all the wide varieties of marmalade into alphabetical order on our shelves, then at least we can be sure of evading capture whilst it is still low tide at Blackpool. Although, the same cannot be said for Whitby, but I'm sure you have been told that many times during your years as an apprentice goat tickler high in the mountains of Snowdonia. Of course, though, back then you didn't even know there was such a thing as the offside rule, let alone that this is a world seemingly o'er-brimmed with tourist coaches, each of which seem to - by statute - contain at least one of your aunts invariably bedecked in some of the most outlandish headgear ever seen in these isles, which – of course – means that the pilchards will be perfectly safe from your aunts and their pernicious machinations hidden amongst such straightforward and routine head-wear as bowler hats.