“how about a gift token.”
“slippers or chocolates,
fecked if I know,he’s got everything.”
That’s how come I forgot my bait.
Trying to get loaded in record time while the trouble n strifes asking me what to get for dads birthday.
I’ve had some shite chrissy pressies as I’m sure we all have,chocolate fish,cheap fishing games,angling times annual, Just as stocking fillers,not ya main pressy.
When what ya really want is Samantha Fox wearing nowt but a red thong,handing you a new set of rods,13 foot of course,nothing tarty.
“Come on Ken ,I’ve put ya stuff in the van, we’re off down the lake for a few days,have a beer,I’ll drive. “
Feckin cheeky cow,she ain’t driving my van,probably ain’t even insured.
That’s the trouble with glamour models,no respect for other people’s vans,think I’ll go on me own,she seems like hard work.
If ya reading this Sam,no offence,it just didn’t work out for us,good luck with the singing,can we still be friends,you can still call down the lake for an hour every now n then but ring me first.
I might be having a drink with the boys,love Ken.
Few, that was a close one.
What is all this beards n waist coats thing,why does everyone look like a cross between David Essex and an eighteenth century street gent.
Bet Chris Yates is pissing himself,he’s looked like that for years.
Ent he tall,all his sleeves look too short n his trousers have had an argument with his shoes.
Anyways, hope you’re all looking after yourselves, I’ve let meself go a bit lately,bit of a belly n poor grooming n all that.
Perhaps it’s just a cycle,perhaps I’ll get it together again soon,perhaps Samantha will put something on n get on with the extension.
You never know.