“…and when it was all over, all he had was a warm soapy flannel, a telescope, one white cotton ankle sock and just enough time to consider whether it was even legal. We rang his office but the Chief Constable was unavailable for comment….and now over to Tim for the weather….and another day of sunshine Tim?”

“Thank you, Samantha. Well, yes….I think I can say without fear of contradiction, gainsaying or equivocation, and with the utter confidence born of bitter long drawn out experience, that indeed it will be sunny with….yes, a light breeze blowing off the Red Sea as the high pressure continues to dominate. Guess what the top temperature will be? Go on, guess…..I dare you. Just pluck any figure that comes to mind as you contemplate today’s weather. Unless you’ve been dead for quite some time I’m sure you’ll be correct. Oh for some rain, just a teeny weeny drop to remind me that life is worth living rather than for slapping the sand flies on my neck. I’ve not sweated this badly since I was a boy who’d just discovered his dad’s back copies of Mayfair, Penthouse and other ‘French Erotica’ in the attic. This morning I just happened to investigate the contents of my underwear while brushing my teeth and I thought I’d dropped a couple of wizened dates down there. Turns out they were my testicles which have dehydrated and withered to the extent that they now resemble a pair of premium sukkari dates, and to the touch they were soft on the outside but hard as a date stone on the inside. To my horror, my dehydrated Johnson had also retreated so far into itself it resembled a snail’s head oozing back into its shell. Believe me, Samantha, you’d not like to see what now passes for my meat and two veg. It was a full on, blood soaked, Shakespearian tragedy in my underpants this morning. ‘I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, my Willy, seems to me a waste of wrinkled skin’. The upshot is that I stand before you in these baggy army issue khaki shorts, as I’m presenting the weather ‘commando’ to let the two little buggers swing as bells in the belfry in the attempt to refresh and reinvigorate myself in the vain hope of the return to normal service. Bugger me it’s hot out there”.

“Thank you Tim…nicely put, and a bit of the Bard for good measure! And finally, despite a statement of denial to the contrary, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were perfectly capable of the reassembly of one ‘Mr Dumpty’…they just couldn’t be arsed. “Serves the fat twat right for sitting on a wall” said the Coroner.

Published by Lance Goodman

Freelance writer, bon vivant and all-round good oeuf.

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