This is horrible, more horrible than not getting my copy of escalator shoes monthly and missing the pull out section on the extra grip plimsole with full arch support, Arthur Askey predicted this would happen, i put all my trust in a whimsicle old lady with tied back hair, en suite bi-focals and a lilac and vannilla essence apron just for dynamic proportions.
She looked like she could knit a small detached maisonette in an evening complete with button down collars and underfloor heating, but she let me down gi-massively when i bought her fucking shitty beef extract laden pastry bags, she stands there all farmhouse like and beckoning with her flour coated kneady hands and i was hungry after working down the frog harvesting pit for 12 hours.
I expected a home based cooked full of meat pie and all i got was gravy satchel that deflated upon fork penetration, it was like eating a curry shit, I hope she spontaneously combusts and her dog eats the remains of her legs which would be far tastier than her fucked up recipe pies.
After calling in at the chippie i managed to get my copy of drip tray weekly which calmed me down to gas mark 3
For sale ;
1 x paperback book on how to laze about the house and do absolutely bugger all, £5.00 o.n.o , no time wasters please
.`. `. .