Oh, me bum!
I wish I had said that.
There you are! NO gannets, NO robins, NO nuthatches, THERE’s your book!
Right! Silly little bleeder. One rabbit stew comin’ right up!
So, on June 7th, 1783, the Montgolfier brothers had a really good wash … starting on his face and arms, Joseph Michael Montgolfier went on to scrub his torso, his legs and his naughty bits, before rinsing his whole body. That June night, he and his brother between them washed seventeen square feet of body area. They used a kilo and a half of catholic soap and nearly fourteen gallons of nice hot water. It was indeed an impressive sight.
Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
Good evening, and welcome to The Money Programme. Tonight on The Money Programme, we’re going to look at money. Lots of it. On film, and in the studio. Some of it in nice piles, others in lovely clanky bits of loose change. Some of it neatly counted into fat little hundreds, delicate fivers stuffed into bulging wallets, nice crisp clean checks, pert pieces of copper coinage thrust deep into trouser pockets, romantic foreign money rolling against the thigh with rough familiarity, beautiful wayward curlicued banknotes, filigreed copper plating cheek by jowl with tumbly rubbing gently against the terse leather of beautifully balanced bank books!
That’s still not grounds for calling me Señor, or Don Beeg-les for that matter. Right. “Dear King Haakon…”
No. 1. The Larch. The Larch.
What, ridden on a horse?
Late in life’s pageant it may be … but you have made roses bloom anew for me
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It’s a smashing store this, I can’t recommend it too highly, well-lit, rat-free. It’s a joy to manage. Oh yes, the freshest haddock in London, second floor, third floor Ribena, ants here, television and flame throwers over there, behind them our dinner-wagon exhibition closes at six.
One day Ricky the magic Pixie went to visit Daisy Bumble in her tumbledown cottage. He found her in the bedroom. Roughly he grabbed her heavy shoulders pulling her down on to the bed and ripping off her…
But what of Mr Neutron, the most fearfully dangerous man in the world! The man who could destroy entire galaxies with his wrist, the man who could tear fruit machines apart with his eyeballs… He had not been idle!
Then he screwed my pelvis to a cake stand.
Bally Jerry, pranged his kite right in the how’s your father. Hairy blighter, dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harper’s and caught his can in the Bertie.
Oh, yes, definitely: “Splunge” for me, too.
Here! I’ve got an idea. Suppose you agree that he can’t actually have babies, not having a womb, which is nobody’s fault, not even the Romans’, but that he can have the right to have babies.
And now it’s time for Ethel the Frog.
Old Nick the Sea Captain was a rough tough jolly sort of fellow. He loved the life of the sea and he loved to hang out down by the pier where the men dressed as ladies…