I see you chose the canvas chair with the aluminium frame. I’ll throw that in and a fiver, for the briefcase and the umbrella … no, make it fair, the briefcase and the umbrella and the two pens in your breast pocket and the chair’s yours and a fiver and a pair of ex-German U-boat commander’s binoculars.
It’s certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
Monty Python’s Contractual Obligation Album
Live! from The Classic (Silbury Hill).
Right, cut to me. As Officer Commanding the Regular Army’s Advertising Division, I object, in the strongest possible terms to this obvious reference to our own slogan ‘It’s a dog’s life… a man’s life in the modern army’ and I warn this programme that any recurrence of this sloppy long-haired civilian plagiarism will be dealt with most severely. Right, now on the command ‘cut’, the camera will cut to camera two, all right, director…
We use only the finest baby frogs, dew picked and flown from Iraq, cleansed in finest quality spring water, lightly killed, and then sealed in a succulent Swiss quintuple smooth treble cream milk chocolate envelope and lovingly frosted with glucose.
But soon this quiet pattern of life was to change irrevocably. The commonplace routine of a typical Monday morning would never be the same again, for into this quiet little community came … Mr Neutron!
To Ma Own beloved Lassie. A poem on her 17th Birthday: “Lend us a couple of bob till Thursday. I’m absolutely skint. But I’m expecting a postal order and I can pay you back as soon as it comes.” Love, Ewan.
For Ralph Melish, this was not to be the start of any trail of events which would not, in no time at all, involve him in neither a tangled knot of suspicion nor any web of lies, which would, had he been not uninvolved, surely have led to no other place than the central criminal court of the Old Bailey.
If you could see your way to lending me sixpence, I could at least buy a newspaper. That’s not much to ask anyone.
Scarsdale? Say no more! Say no more, Squire!
I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
Since then, McTeagle has developed and widened his literary scope. Three years ago he concerned himself with quite small sums - quick bits of ready cash: sixpences, shillings, but more recently he has turned his extraordinary literary perception to much larger sums - fifteen shillings, £4. 12 and 6 … even nine guineas. But there is still nothing to match the huge sweep, the majestic power of what is surely his greatest work: ‘Can I have fifty pounds to mend the shed?’
I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
There seems to be no end to McTeagle’s poetic invention. ‘My new cheque book hasn’t arrived’ was followed up by the brilliantly allegorical ‘What’s twenty quid to the bloody Midland Bank?,’ and more recently his prizewinning poem to the Arts Council: ‘Can you lend me a thousand quid?’
Just the candidate for next year!: https://www.redbubble.com/people/micusficus/works/10753027-supreme-executive-power-2020?p=metal-print
It’s…
It’s the Meaning of Life!
Fresh out!
It’s hot enough to boil a monkey’s bum in here, your Majesty.