D-Day +26008
Dear Mother,
Mice ravage the kitchen supplies and as we grow ever more weary, hygienic conditions deteriorate. But we always have a jolly good sing-song as we tuck in to our fried pemmican and gristle sandwiches. Besides fighting the fight my time has been consumed with a quest for shoe-polish.
Before jetting down to the airport I accidentally ate all of my dark tan polish for breakfast - an episode I like to describe 'the bitter struggle', on account of the bitter taste that the polish left in my mouth. A few days after arriving in North Britain I commenced the search for polish - to give myself a pair of shoes, so shiny that I could eat my shoe-polish breakfast off it. I expertly located a local ironmongers and having brushed up on the local dialect I strode forth. But then disaster struck - it was a Sunday. So I left, bereft with dull shoes intact and my soul broken.
Days later, just before the free show ended, I awoke to a horrendous pain in my stomach - I thought it might be the dreaded 'Balmoral Belly', but it turned out to be a friendly local punching me repeatedly in the tummy.
'WHERE'S YER FOOKEN TROOSERS?!' the gentleman enquired,raining his pugilistic fury down on my soft guts all the while.
'I lost them, so I fashioned this old tartan rag into a kind of pleated skirt,' I replied with the vim and vigour of a man just woken by the morning dew resting on the cold, hard pavements of Edinburgh.
'YE LOOK LIKE A FOOKEN GUURRL!' And with that he disappeared into the sunshine, leaving nothing but a solitary oat behind him.
This outdoor sleep left me with a fever - which struck me later that day, being the 12th August.
The 16th saw the end of the free show to thunderous applause, a great roar rang out from the Caves, strong enough to shake the very foundations of the Earth. There was much public mourning at the end of this most esteemed and loved production. It was just as I was wondering if my time here could ever again soar to such dizzying heights as that that I wandered into the Hardware shop and found my delicious dark-tan prize, and next to her was my shoe polish too.
Until next time, ta ta and farewell,
Louis 'captain captain' Captain
Dear Mother,
Mice ravage the kitchen supplies and as we grow ever more weary, hygienic conditions deteriorate. But we always have a jolly good sing-song as we tuck in to our fried pemmican and gristle sandwiches. Besides fighting the fight my time has been consumed with a quest for shoe-polish.
Before jetting down to the airport I accidentally ate all of my dark tan polish for breakfast - an episode I like to describe 'the bitter struggle', on account of the bitter taste that the polish left in my mouth. A few days after arriving in North Britain I commenced the search for polish - to give myself a pair of shoes, so shiny that I could eat my shoe-polish breakfast off it. I expertly located a local ironmongers and having brushed up on the local dialect I strode forth. But then disaster struck - it was a Sunday. So I left, bereft with dull shoes intact and my soul broken.
Days later, just before the free show ended, I awoke to a horrendous pain in my stomach - I thought it might be the dreaded 'Balmoral Belly', but it turned out to be a friendly local punching me repeatedly in the tummy.
'WHERE'S YER FOOKEN TROOSERS?!' the gentleman enquired,raining his pugilistic fury down on my soft guts all the while.
'I lost them, so I fashioned this old tartan rag into a kind of pleated skirt,' I replied with the vim and vigour of a man just woken by the morning dew resting on the cold, hard pavements of Edinburgh.
'YE LOOK LIKE A FOOKEN GUURRL!' And with that he disappeared into the sunshine, leaving nothing but a solitary oat behind him.
This outdoor sleep left me with a fever - which struck me later that day, being the 12th August.
The 16th saw the end of the free show to thunderous applause, a great roar rang out from the Caves, strong enough to shake the very foundations of the Earth. There was much public mourning at the end of this most esteemed and loved production. It was just as I was wondering if my time here could ever again soar to such dizzying heights as that that I wandered into the Hardware shop and found my delicious dark-tan prize, and next to her was my shoe polish too.
Until next time, ta ta and farewell,
Louis 'captain captain' Captain
