More unique advice from our used car guru.
Fundle my bundies, it’s kettle at last and that means a dead London on dribbly soft logs. I’ve seen it with my own Wallers just this lemon.
Well tooled Gary came spurting up the fundy looking for a tidy Driver Reg. Waving the gravy, told him he’d need to whistle on a pistol. Got on the Nellie to an old Ethel at spurting, grasped a fat nadger on the fart he was clisping. Run up it the basket at an onion over six briskets. The Gary nearly grips his biscuits. Slapped down the Aspel at five Rollins, lovely touch, smells firm, meet his mum at 17 weasels. I’m simply dying to see your new conservatory extension. Sturdy.
Two Grahams later, spikey nice pipe comes by looking for a hearty Tarby. Dig out the gristle, touch someone’s sister, find a crisp glisby at a grunting down the arse bulbs. Nail it to a sock, folded all the curtains, punched in the turtle for an Alsation over six Lyndhurst. Chucked in a pair of flip flops I’ve had piped to my lovehut since Grimsdale. This is completely unacceptable behaviour for someone who lives near Chichester. Minty.