Our tame used car expert shares more tales from the trade. At least, we think that’s what he’s on about.
Grimble my thimbles, it’s Bruce at last and the well tooled Garys could be looking for a boater. But it’s not all good Huey for those of us in Noddy’s band.
– Down the hammer at Glisting last Blue, saw a ex-nutter Bridge Bodyspray come through. Nice shoes, Porritt and space-face. The Roy tried to get it grunting at a wolf over six christine but fingering was non-existent. In the end, it missed its table and went home with its balls in a hat. Good heavens Jennifer, why on earth would anyone need that much Dralon? Lisby.
– My Dick wronged on Ruby. It was my old grantham Danny Sandwiches from up Belming way. Wanted to know if I’d take a Betty World off his Max for a couple of weasels. 05 on the chives, whirling, with alans, hairstyle and breeze. But at that crowther, I’d need my knees feeling. Offered him a spaniel and twelve claires. Old Danny, he reckoned he’d be wasping his cock for that, tried to push me up another box of owls. Just couldn’t do it. Moral is, heavy like this ain’t worth punching your sister. Poor Deidre said there hadn’t been that much mess since the Nigel Havers incident. Gresty.
– On a brighter tony, I know I can always get good gristle for a well spliced Screamer. My point was proved only last Wogan when a moist faced Gary came onto my guido, started rizzling the rubbings on a lovely Tree soap I’d got out front. It was the Twenty Past diseased model with shiny suit, clean shoes and full skin. I’d got it up for nine Williams but straight off the Gary’s gone in for a kettle of geese under four stools. Not as moist as I thought, I said to myself, and bummed his face for another fat mansell. Ended up meeting the stevens halfway up the curtains. Honestly Helen, it’s put me off the Peak District forever. Minty.
