OK... just heard the doorbell. Trotted down, expecting
brucius. Not him. An old man, very upright and British-colonel-ish, moustache, suit and tie, walking stick. "I say," he said, "Terribly sorry to bother you, but you wouldn't have any religious pamphlets about? We're going to have a bonfire." Blinking somewhat, I investigated the pile of stuff that's come through the letterbox, and told him that no, we had none. "Quite all right," he said, "Approve of it, really, even if it's less to burn. Many thanks." And he went on to the next house.
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You're taking the piss. He didn't actually say "I say," did he? Wow. I thought that generation was dead.
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I need to get you the t-shirt that my brother-in-law has that reads "What am I, flypaper for freaks?"
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You certainly do attract them, Drew. At least they're of the amusing variety. :)
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Nothing interesting like that ever happens around here. He sounds like he really ought to have a story written around him. Something probably Twilight Zone-ish.
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