Huguenot

A wandering peddlar walks into a bar, and finds himself without enough cash for a pint. In lieu of payment he offers to show the barman a remarkable magic trick, the barman in turn agrees to the deal only if he is sufficiently impressed. Pulling one of his many plastic bags up, he lays it on its side and claps his hand. After much shufflling and scratching a miniature fellow, in top hat and tails, about a foot high, emerges from the bag pushing a similarly proportioned miniature grand piano. He disappears back into the bag, and re-emerges 30 seconds later with a piano stool. Then, flicking his tails to one side, he seats himself and delivers a perfect rendition of Pomp and Cirumstance. Finally, with a flourish, he disappears back into the bag, musical instrument and all. Staggered, the barman offers the peddlar another pint if he could show how he acquired this remarkable accessory. "Indeed", says the peddlar, producing a further plastic bag and pulling an Alladin's lamp from within. "I polished this firmly with my left hand before whispering my wish into the spout". Sensibly, the barman offers the peddlar another pint if he could have a toot on this remarkable organ, a request to which the peddlar duly obliges. After a moment's silence the barman's attention is suddenly drawn away, because in the distance a quiet yowping and yipping, baying and rowfing could be heard (much as a Batdog in a shopping bag no less). However, as the seconds passed this grew into a crescendo of barking, yowling dogs. Suddenly the windows, the doors crashed in and they were surrounded by dog after dog tumbling over each other into the pub... "You silly b@stard" shouts the barman "I wanted a million pounds not a million hounds" "And what the f*ck do you think I wanted?" yells the peddlar in return "A 12-inch pianist???"

*notes that no-one has actually opened the balcony doors onto rolling umbrian countryside* *rolls off couch and throws open shutters with sharp intake of breath...* http://farm1.static.flickr.com/97/274628593_858ebce794.jpg?v=0

Good heavens, no accusation of racism ratty? Or is it because it's not being blamed on mystical imps? :))

Fantastic!!! :))

*considers... is public weeing the new black* *scritches head... is some prat out there going to think that's racist?*

*makes mental note to congratulate mockney on perfect prioritisation, prevents inappropriate use of the 3rd rule of drink club...* *lower eyelid twitches.. now what on earth reminded me of drink club??* *starts whistling yellow polka dot bikini to alter path of circling demons*

*raises eyebrow at Mockney, wondering if it's time for the ol' kill or cure gambit...?*

I'm staggered. Absolutely mind blowing. Surely that was reverse engineered?

*Peers nervously around door, wondering if anyone's going to have a sense of humour failure today...*

You're right - there aren't usually clampers. The used to work in council 'hit squads' where they'd target an area for a week or so before moving on to the next. So this is either the start of a week long blitz, or a new independent company that's opened up just for the local community.

Post edited for unintended offence caused!

Well, strictly speaking of course, pleb is higher than prole and only one below the aristocracy. One shouldn't knock it. To be pedantic, Snorks seems to be suggesting that these chaps are indeed plebs masquerading as unemployable proles.

and it's all gone quiet over here....

*Notices DM has used the only copy of the Guardian as a coffee mat for the dog bowl, grunts, and picks up Daily Mail* *Staggered to notice that Carrington's prediction of blizzards for Monday is supported by same amateur publication, along with a gust of murderers blowing down from Scotland, a front of pick-pocketing immigrants from eastern Europe, and a hail of chavs. There is a 95% chance of hoodie* *Somewhat startled, starts to fear strangers*

*Scratches head. What's that woofing? Skittering of small paws on the linoleum...*

Who... what... snooze

Nope, Met office is with Carrington

Snorks, you must be devastated. The very strategy that's delivering your repetitive working-class consumables is exploiting the community they claim to serve: Lidl Terrors No union recognition, breaches of working time directive, discriminating against women and pregnancy, no right-to-reply for staff complaints, covertly videoing and transcripting staff conversations, no compassion... 400 stores and rising in the UK Surely you can't continue to strut to Peck Ham with your head held high??

A charming young lady struck down with a heavy malaise pays a visit to the doctor. Understandingly the Doctor takes up his stethoscope and presses it to her chest to check all is as it should be; "Now then" he asks, "big breaths?" "Yeth Thir!" She replies "and I'm only thixteen!"

I wandered past yesterday and they were showing round potential tenants (and the newsagent next door as well). I guess there's still plenty of options there... Quaywe?? Snorks??

Arrrgh! Disaster!

*dismayed to find can't locate shoes*

*gurgles like small baby* "Franklins!! - anyone joining us?"

Bust? In the same way that the parking restriction signs were battered out of the ground when they were first installed?

*Leans over slightly to survey small change gathering exercise* *slides spectatcles back up nose with index finger*