The palindrome of Bolton would be ‘Notlob’.
Blimey! Whatever did I give the wife?
All brontosauruses are thin at one end, much MUCH thicker in the middle, and then thin again at the far end. That is the theory that I have and which is mine, and what it is too.
From the plastic arts we turn to football. Last night in the Stadium of Light, Jarrow, we witnessed the resuscitation of a great footballing tradition, when Jarrow United came of age, in a European sense, with an almost Proustian display of modern existentialist football. Virtually annihilating by midfield moral argument the now surely obsolescent catennachio defensive philosophy of Signor Alberto Fanffino. Bologna indeed were a side intellectually out argued by a Jarrow team thrusting and bursting with aggressive Kantian positivism and outstanding in this fine Jarrow team was my man of the match, the arch-thinker, free scheming, scarcely ever to be curbed, midfield cognoscento, Jimmy Buzzard.
I waggled me wig!
And those continentals had better watch out for their dirty foreign literature. Jean-Paul Sartre and Jean Genet won’t know what’s hit them. Never mind the foulness of their language - come '73 they’ll all have to write in British.
Er, please excuse my wife. She may appear to be rather nasty but underneath she has a heart of formica.
On Wednesdays I go shopping and have buttered scones for tea.
Nurse! Nurse! Nurse, take Mr Gumby to a brain surgeon.
My brain hurts!
The last supper is a significant event in the life of our Lord, the penultimate supper was not! Even if they had a conjurer and a mariachi band.
No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition!
Molluscs!! Gastropods!! Lamellibranchs!! Cephalopods!!
What d’ya mean, “Miss?”
Are you selling something?
What’s it like?
You lucky bastard! You lucky, lucky bastard!
He said knowingly.
Please, please! This is supposed to be a happy occasion! … Let’s not bicker and argue about who killed who.
I think I’d like to be a lion tamer.