Minister for Good Ideas & Gin Dr Samantha Martens was not, as a rule, a nervous person. But right now, Wing Commander Tom was making her nervous. She couldn’t quite fathom how a man who kept his face covered with his hat was able to convey quite such a threatening demeanour. But then, the events – not to mention the gin – from last night were sitting heavily in her mind. She wasn’t quite her usual chipper self. Dr Martens gripped the arms of her chair and wished she was anywhere but the Cabinet office as Tom came and sat on the table, right by her.
“So you see that’s my really menacing look – well, it’s not really a look, is it, but you know what I mean – it’s the very look I shall be using during my interrogations this afternoon,” Tom was very pleased with himself, it seemed. “It never fails.”
“I imagine not!” Dr Martens spluttered, looking around for her tea and the ubiquitous plate of biscuits that resembled a kind of cornucopia for baked goods. As she reached for her tea, the great doors of the Cabinet office were ripped asunder by a lively King Boris and Nigel Farage singing a rude song about rowing, charging towards the biscuits. The ensuing shock of Dr Martens and Tom sent tea and biscuits flying across the table and, in the case of some unfortunate custard creams, all over the carpet.
“Buggeration!” exclaimed King Boris
“Never mind about that,” Prime Minister Lucy Wastell swept in behind him and pushed him out of her way. She spied a custard cream near her foot. She bobbed down, scooping it up. “Two second rule!”
As the slightly fluffy biscuit was devoured, Minister for Unlikely Events Hugh Roberts wandered in, closely followed by Sir Edd and Home Secretary Vicky Kirby. The rest of the Cabinet were moments away, but King Boris noticed that someone was missing.
“I say, have any of you chaps seen my man Snetterton?” he asked, brow so deeply furrowed that his crown tipped perilously forward. Sir Edd glided to his side, smiling.
“He is buttling, your Highness,” he replied, adopting a most disarming tone.
“What do you mean, he’s buttling?” yelped King Boris. “He is my butler, I tell you, he buttles for me!”
“He is a butler, your Highness,” Sir Edd continued. “Butlers buttle. It is simply what they do. One cannot hope to stop them.”
“You two!” Lucy thrust a finger in the direction of Boris and Sir Edd. “Stop talking nonsense. We’ve got a lot to be getting on with. Now – everyone settle down and listen to Wing Commander Tom. He seems to know what he’s doing.”
Lucy took her usual central seat at the head of the table. She found a blank piece of paper among the various documents before her and, borrowing a pen from Sir Edd, wrote the date across the top. Tom stood and once again addressed the Cabinet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have quite the predicament before us, but you can rest assured that the Cambridge Intelligence Agency have everything very much in hand. Preliminary intelligence gathering operations have been implemented and security is tighter than a gnat’s chuff. There really is nothing to be concerned about at this stage…”
Tom was interrupted mid-flow by the late arrival of Trade Minister Simon Daley and Chancellor Ian Risk. They scuttled in apologetically and took their seats with some contrition. Ian sat next to Lucy and she noticed that little pools of water were gathering at his feet. The collar of his shirt was also damp. Tom continued.
“As I was saying. Everything is in hand. By the close of play today I shall have the initiatory statements from my team, which will tell me who I need to speak to about what. The medics in the basement have almost completed their report, so I shall be examining that also. In the meantime, I shall be interr- er – interviewing those persons present at the scene last night. And, of course, Prime Minister, I will require a private briefing with your good self at your earliest convenience.”
“I shall make myself convenient to you at the very earliest,” Lucy replied.
“Excellent. I will also need to speak to the Home Secretary about some practical matters.” Tom took a breath, bathing for a moment in the admiring gratitude of the assembled Cabinet. Not so much Nigel and Boris, is has to be said. “For now, the media blackout remains in place and incarceration of all present will continue until further notice. I suggest you all think very carefully about everything you saw and heard last night. The tiniest detail could very well be the most important.”
Most of the Cabinet couldn’t even remember anything from the night before, let alone think carefully about it. But all in all, sitting around having a think was fine by them, especially if the thinking could be done whilst eating and drinking, or possibly with eyes closed. Boris and Nigel were the last to leave, exchanging worried glances as they watched Wing Commander Tom and the Prime Minister make their way towards her private office.
And where the bloody hell was Snetterton?
Buttling, huh? I LOVE IT! Conjugated: today he buttles, yesterday he buttled, Snetterton buttles ongoingly – except for now, when there is CLEARLY something else afoot.
xx,
mgh
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In declensions: I buttle, you buttle, he/she/it buttles; we buttle, you (pl) buttle, they buttle. It is a simple yet beautiful verb and I am adamant that it shall be recognised! Even if it does send my auto-correct crazy 😉
xx
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But then, when does auto-correct ever NOT go crazy? xx, mgh
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Auto-correct is the work of dark, malevolent forces…
xx
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and worse! xx, mgh 🙂
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I am not sure if to buttle is not an irregular verb: to buttle, I buttle, I butt, I have butt …
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I suppose it could be – it could revolutionise the laws of grammar, perhaps!
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lolololol! xx, mgh
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well I feel safer knowing there is a menacing hat involved 😉
I am glad to note that the Oxford contingent were clothed, even if they did cause upset in the Bernard department!
😀
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Your gorgeous hats could give Tom’s hats a run for their money any day 😉
Yes! For the very first time everyone has their clothes on! Hurrah! I actually typed Bernards twice when writing this, proving that it is indeed a real word 😀 Note that Bernards were not wasted, thanks to the Two Second Rule, surely the greatest piece of legislation ever conceived.
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hahaha yeay!! Bernards is officially part of the language!! 😀
The two second rule is indeed a fabulous piece of legislation… especially as it leads to no wasted Bernards or worse…Bernards being trodden into the carpet!!
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Noooo! Bernards must never meet such a terrible fate! It is a tragedy for them and for the carpet also. In fact I believe there is a clause in the Two Second Rule that exempts Bernards from the 2 second time limit, thereby avoiding such calamities.
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yes, I believe that is true.
there must be no Bernard crushing!! Unless you are making a cheesecake base…then it is ok to hit them with a rolling pin!
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Oh yes, they absolutely love that. They are serving a higher purpose, you see.
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oh yes..definitely!!
Becoming more than the sum of their parts and all that!!
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Bernards are very philosophical 🙂
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any thing that is soles created to be eaten has to be…
now I want cheesecake…
or bernards…
or both!
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Damn me too – I feel a trip to the shop coming on…
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I was considering gatecrashing the customer meeting at which Bernards are provided…
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I think you must!
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I think I have a responsibility to the bernards!
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Go and rescue those Bernards, my friend! For the Bernards!!
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For the Bernards!!!
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Was the rude song about rowing the one that goes: ‘row row row your punt gently down the stream, belts off trousers down, isn’t life a scream!’?
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Hurrah! Yes, it could easily have been that one.
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Or the one about oars and ‘ores…
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Or that one. Why are boats and sailors so inherently rude, do you think?
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All that time sailors spend at sea without the love or breasts of a good or bad woman…it’s bound to rub off on the boats…so to speak.
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Ah yes, I imagine that is the case. Boats and sailors featured quite heavily in Finnegans Wake and that was quite a rude book. I think.
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I believe it was, and your review only compounded that dissolute idea…and it even starts with a riverun!
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Dissolute doesn’t belong there does it…
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I think it slips in quite nicely, actually. Besides, when used in connection with The Wake pretty much any word will do.
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Fair point, and it’s good practice to just throw in random words that sound as if they might fit, in general conversation I find.
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Couldn’t agree more – got myself into some interesting situations doing that, I tell you.
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Life’s not worth living if you can’t insult a plonker whilst making it sound like a compliment…oh the times I’ve almost been punched…great days.
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Ah yes… the thrill of almost being punched… good times
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Preferable to actually being punched, and my ratio was quite impressive.
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I have heard the rumours about your ratio – very impressive indeed!
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Ha! Yeah, my BMI does kick arse…
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Trump wants to grab all the punts…
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He can keep his hand off mine. I shall defend my punt to the death!
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hit him with a sticky wicket
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Also a chair.
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obviously
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Well he is a man with money and power, has he not every right to do these things? He’s the shining light that proves even the ugly dudes can get the girls, one just has to put in the effort.
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If he gives me his money and power, he can have a feel of my punt. If he intends to keep hold of his money and power, punts are off limits. Anyway, ugly guys always have alcohol to fall back on where the ladies are concerned.
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You save your punt for those who can afford it, sister! Is alcohol not a lazy and somewhat dubious method to fall back on in the pursuit of sexual gratification?
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Hell yeah, brother! Nah – neither lazy nor dubious. Bring me a bottle of Remy Martin and I’ll prove it.
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Ah the drink of rock stars! That is quite a long way to travel…that’s not lazy is it? Though you’d have to judge me ugly enough to warrant the method.
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Ah yes, I just realised that I don’t know what you look like. In the likely scenario that you are not ugly enough, perhaps you could wear one of those Trump masks? In which case, better make it two bottles.
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Ah yes, how unfair – this is me https://theseedsaidso.wordpress.com/bring-me-your-clothes-your-boots-and-your-lifecycles/ – but with a very red face for some reason! I will pack a couple of masks just to be in the safe side…and ram-raid a co-op on the way down…not for the drink you understand; merely for fun.
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Aha, that is actually you! Yes, I’m afraid you’re going to need the mask. And the moustache only adds to your attractiveness, so make sure you don’t have one. Please do cause as much destruction to our sworn enemy the Co-op as you can – long live the mighty Spar!
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That is actually me! Though from a few years ago, I’ve aged terribly since, and am now sporting a beard since I don’t have to look presentable for silly hotel guests! Vive la spar!
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Beards are almost as good as moustaches – sometimes better because they are much bigger. Also I like your hair. Vive la Spar!
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Then I shall pack a Donald trump wig also! Well, two wigs…for…you know…
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Oh right… yes… bring the two wigs…
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I won’t show you a picture of that, but needless to say…coiffured…
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But if he grabs the punts, won’t he have to grab the poles too??? (wait, I might be assuming that punts are those little boats that you English so quaintly push around between white swans on your rivers and lakes with a long pole… if punts use oars, I do apologize… and, ironically, in America, I believe that a ‘punt’ is a kick to the balls… [a short kick of the ovaloid American ‘football’]… )…
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Very well done, dear Art – a punt is indeed a nice little boat that you push along with a pole. In Cambridge, one punts from the rear of the boat, pushing it through the water – the proper way. The philistines at Oxford punt from the front – dragging their boats through the water like the degenerate heathens that they are. Quite possibly. A punt also means to kick a ball, and also to place a bet or gamble on something. A very versatile little word that when misheard can sound quite rude. I love it.
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I am going to grab the next punt that comes anywhere near me. I’m not rich or famous, but I have a blog, so I can totally do stuff like that.
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Yes, that’s my excuse for grabbing punts, too. It’s about the only thing we bloggers are allowed to grab…
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Ain’t that the truth…
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You are most correct my little yanky friend, and we have the punt here too for the kicking of a rugby ball, but for the other kick, it’s just called a kick in the knackers.
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Knackers is also an excellent British word.
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That it is; having it off, knackers…I see a pattern.
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‘Having it off’ is probably my favourite euphemism. It makes me think of posh people doing it.
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I always saw it as a phrase that bridged the classes; just remove a few letters and it’s happening on every council estate in the country.
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Very handy, if a posh person and a common person want to get to it. Very inclusive.
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I think so; if a bit of rumpy pumpy can’t bring people together then there’s no hope for us.
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Hurrah for rumpy pumpy!
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Hooray for how’s your father!
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Yippee for the two backed beast!
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Woohoo for nooky!
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Praise be for hanky panky!
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Bravo for a bit of the other!
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Whoopee for Whoopee?
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…I feel we may have climaxed…
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An unfortunate turn of phrase. But yes, that does seem to be the case.
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It would be a worry if one wasn’t sure…
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Oh, it happens.
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There are some quiet ones out there apparently.
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So, your choices are to kick someone in the knackers or in the knickers? Also, I think you meant ‘little Yankee friend’… unless you are implying excessive self-gratification, in which case, spot on!
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We never kick anyone in the knickers, that’s just silly. And thank you for the incite into your leisure activities…activity…
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I have had various things aimed at my knickers, but never a kick, thank goodness.
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Insight…stupid eyes…and I shan’t ask for the list.
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I just said that it would be grammatically accurate, not true… maybe…
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For the purposes of grammar, I would say that it is a good example.
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precisely
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Too late to back peddle now, the snake is out of the knickers!
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and the knackers are no longer nestled in the knickers
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Not last time I checked. But they may have snuck back in…
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better double check
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They were on their way back in!! Good job I double checked.
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better safe than sorry
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What would I do without you, Art?
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One can only imagine.
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I don’t want to think about it.
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I do… HA!
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The knackers are knackered from all the knicker nicking
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Well, they would be. There’s a lot of knicking and knacking going on.
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It’s hard to tear them apart, what with their reinforced gussets and all.
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knick knack tallywhack, give the dog a bone!
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knick, knack, paddywhack, give the dog a bone. This is an English nursery rhyme that I think means that should should go out stealing, punch an Irishman and then… yeah, with the dog.
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oh my
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My bone, the dog can find its own.
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And it will
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Reblogged this on Secret Diary Of PorterGirl.
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Reblogged this on Kate McClelland.
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🙂 x
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In our household we bittle. Nothing to do with buttling however. The little dog is called Snowy. Snowy Bowey. And Little Bittle One. So naturally he Little Bittles. Or just, Bittles. Bittling involves jumping on the furniture and the people and biting ears, hair and knocking off glasses. It is important to acknowledge use of new words. Buttling is good. Snowy might even volunteer to bittle the butler.
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Bittling sounds a lot more fun than buttling! Bittling shall henceforth be very much encouraged among all Cabinet members!
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Indeed. We should all jump up and bite ears and faces and hair. But only consensually. Although the main Bittler doesn’t care about consent.
I suspect bittling – or worse! – may have already been indulged in during the dubious peace taks/treat, I mean treaty/whatevers.
Bittle on 🙂 Just not now. Chief Bittler is taking his siesta. He also wants to know, if there is a cat at number ten, WHERE IS THE DOG? He is applying. Ahora mismo. Well, he is Spanish after all.
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Please do give my very best to the Chief Bittler. The position of Number Ten dog is currently vacant and the little chap seems to have some very desirable skills indeed. Please do tell him to take up position as soon as it suits.
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Photo required? He is very eager to be a Chief Bittler. He may have problems with That Cat.
CV and photo will be sent shortly. He desires a post about him and That Cat too.
He is rather demanding …
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He seems perfect for the Cabinet, then! I would be delighted to accept any and all submissions. What a trooper.
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Will be forthcoming shortly. He has instructed his person accordingly.
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Marvellous 🙂
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Snowy has written to you. He seizes the carp.
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Good man. I shall attend to his communication first thing in the morning. Many thanks to Snowy.
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That’s adequate as he is currently asleep. 💤💤💤
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I have trouble remember the night before but I have been blaming it on Chemo
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A very valid excuse, I would say, my dearest Susan. I do hope you are doing okay, all things considered.
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I am doing pretty well, thank you. The bad boy was the radiation. Nasty and it follows you around for too long. And it is cold here. 😀 How are you?
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That does sound pretty nasty. I am glad you are battling through. It is chilly here too and raining today, which is not ideal. However, apart from the ubiquitous British weather, I am fine and dandy 🙂
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No sense complaining.
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That is true, of course, but if you feel like complaining you know where I am 🙂
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How many wings must a person command to be an official wing commander?
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Good question. I shall have to ask Tom.
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and I thought he was promoted to Major…
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He was demoted again after some dubious shenanigans.
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but he did make it back to earth?
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He stops by occasionally, but Ground Control secretly prefer him in space.
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Well, he has that nice tin can to live in.
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Very true. He’s made it lovely inside, you know.
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I love the rocking chair by the fire place…
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Cheap rug, though. I did tell him about that but he just loved the colour.
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Isn’t that the official pinkish-blue of the Royal British Space Program?
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The very same!
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It is a nice color.
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Yes, where is the damned butler. He knows more than he lets on, all butlers do I think. Great stuff.
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Butlers are a mysterious force. I am very tempted to write a story entirely about butlers and their nefarious ways.
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The country is in safe hands then?…….Snetterton’s that is?
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I think Snetterton is our best bet right now. Although – exclusive – Tom removes his hat tomorrow. Then you know things have got serious.
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Wow!!…..
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I know, right? Phew.
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