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‘Though age from folly could not give me freedom…’
‘Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
‘It does from childishness.’
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‘We came here with jests upon our lips, and they are frozen before they could find expression.’
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Toasty’s Futon is suspended for a week.
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COMMENTS
AIMLESS said…
Although some may choose to think that the reason for the suspension of Toasty's Futon might have something to do with restraint, taste, and a desire not to engage in trivialities whilst the British nation mourns its dead and comforts its wounded, I have it on good authority that Toasty has been hung by the knickers from a coat hook in an Internet bar by a group of hoodlums and is too much the gentleman to ask for help and possibly embarass those who might, out of compassion, come to his assistance.
I salute you, Toasty, for your keen sensitivity (and by that I do not refer to your tendency to break out in hives when listening to Mother Goose rhymes).
ANNABELLE said…
Pictures?
ANONYMOUS said…
Toasy - I too salute your sensitivity but I'm concerned that your genius needs an immediate outlet; a man of your calibre [dare I say small bore?] needs to express himself to stay sane and your adoring public craves your literary seepage.
AAAANGST said…
Come on Toasty, you've 'ad yer week, now get yer bleedin' arse in gear.
TOASTY replied…
You’re one to talk! The last I heard, you’d delegated all your responsibilities to some old bloke you met in a bierkeller, and were hiding in the Gents while he tried to stage putsches (whatever that may mean).
Aimless, there was more truth in your story than perhaps you thought when you ruthlessly made it up. So no, Annabelle, there will be no pictures of my ordeal. I don’t like to dwell on these things, as the pubic louse said of Hermann Goering.
And Anonymous, thanks for all your encouraging comments. I don’t want to suggest that I know who you are, but do the words ‘Tiddleypushes up to bed!’ mean anything to you?
AIMLESS said…
Toasty, I will have you know that all my made-up stories are constructed of 100% truth, which I first pulverize into tiny grains and then extrude in a medium of library paste into heated molds, thereby forming said truth particles into garish trinkets suitable for sale abroad in foreign countries that speak funny languages, or presenting to the household pet to sharpen its claws upon. In this I like to think I resemble the BBC.
TOASTY replied…
Indeed. Believe nothing they say. We never hear anything in these parts about this ‘Blair’ chappy, I can tell you. They fabricated him for the overseas market out of pieces of left-over Alistair Cooke.
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