Friday, 18 October 2013


I know what you're thinking. MG.C, you mm have to be aah one of the most mm tolerant people I've never met aah.

Mm you befriended Banka Barrister Johnson mm and went so far as mm to propose marriage mm between your fictitious grandchildren mm. The one thing mm that nobody would mm say about you is that mm you are intolerant. Mm.

And you'd be right. Aah. I'd consider myself aah to be tolerant and a champion of the underdog. Aah. I Iived in Wales. Aah. And France. Mm. I support Wycombe Wanderers. Aah. I've served my time. Aah.

But as I sit here on the H22 to Richmond Manor Circus mm and the woman mm in front of me aah cannot get a word in edgeways with the person to aah whom she is on the phone and therefore mm compensates by liberally pebble-dashing the silence aah with mms mm and aahs mm, I envisage nothing more aah than shoving one of those mm foil-trayed Highland Toffees from the eighties into her tedious mouth mm.

My own fault. I should have realised as it's only two days since I sat in front of the same aah woman going in the opposite direction. I know what you're thinking; H22 to Hounslow Bell Corner. Eh eugh. 490 to Heathrow. Terminal 5. Aah.

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