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For Dippy. To sustain you through these long winter months pal.


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What's the worst thing the bloody Council could do to you? That's the question I put to the tapping gathering as we huddled together in the Commercial.

I said, 'we've done women we'd like to kiss, women we'd never wish to kiss and what we'd do for a million quid. Tonight I want you all to allow your imaginations to run wild and come up with the worst thing that the Council could do to you'.

First up was Megilleland who said,'I'm riding me bike minding me own business when all of a sudden me and me bike disappear into a vast pothole. As I'm scrambling out John Jarvis and Roger Phillips emerge from a small privet hedgerow and urinate on me head'.

Then the Gridknocker said, 'they abandon High Town, build another unwanted retail zone, demolish Rockfield Road and deliver us all near on two hundred million pound of debt.' ' Course, I said, 'yours is a strange response to my question. A very strange response. I ask what's the worst bloody thing the Council could do to you, with a strong emphasis on the word 'could', and you tell us something that they've already done.'

Next up was Ubique. 'Im stood at the bus stop minding me own business when Jonathon Bretherton drives past, pulls up, quickly assembles a small hand held rocket launcher and dispatches me amongst a huge explosion'.

Then it was Dippy's turn.'Right. Im at home. I'm feeling anxious. Thoughts of impending gloom overwhelm me. Aimless threads of thoughts race through my mind as it suddenly dawns on me that something unimaginably evil was about to happen. As I climb the stairs and open the bedroom door intent upon hiding beneath the duvet the whole room becomes engulfed in an unearthly chill. I think to myself, 'hi up. Something unimaginably evil and fiendishly satanic is about to happen'. Cognisant that I can hear voices chanting downstairs, 'we want to kill everyone. Satan is good. Satan is me pal', I dive into bed and tremble fitfully beneath the comfort of me duvet. And then it happened. Tap, tap tap on the window'.

I said, 'who is it Dippy. Who comes tapping near the Witching hour?' 'We don't know Bobby. We're in bed hiding beneath the duvet and unless you stop interrupting I wont be able to get out of the bloody bed, open the curtains and report who it is that's outside tapping at the window. Anyway, Dippy continued, 'I finally emerge from beneath the duvet and I gingerly glance at me toothbrush and notice that it's hairs are all stood on end and there was now no doubt in my mind that the Council were about to do the worst bloody thing that they could do to me. I get out of bed and despite my fear that's frozen the ends of me bloody toes, I stagger to the window, open the curtains and the window and I howl into the night, 'who comes bloody tapping. Im a diligent recycler of rubbish and I dont appreciate being disturbed thank you very much'.

'Is it the Council Dippy. Have they come for you?' 'Yes, Bobby, it's Bill Norman and forty one Herefordshire Council Directors who burst in and empty all me rubbish from me recycling bin on top of my head, howling, 'we've come for you Dippy. You've tapped your last vowel and consonant and we've devised the worst bloody thing that we could do to you'. And then they dragged me downstairs where I saw the entire Council cabinet stood around a salt pentangle chanting, 'we want to kill everyone. Satan is good. Satan is our pal'.

'Good grief', I howl, 'bloody Satan worshipper's. That explains it all. What do they do to you Dippy?'. I'll tell you what fiendishly evil and devilish thing they do to me Bobby. Pat MORGAN is holding a sack and it contains a load of human flesh eating ferrets and these ferrets are ravenous screaming, 'get in the sack we want to eat you'. I ask, 'the ferrets can talk then Dippy?'. 'Yes Bobby they're human flesh eating ferrets that can talk. A variety of ferret rarely found within the British Isles. Anyway, they throw me in the sack and the ferrets eat me slowly over a period of several hours and that's the worst thing that the bloody Council could do. It's pretty bad isn't it? You'd be hard pressed to imagine anything worse than that.'

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Good Grief, Bobby!


It's a wonderful and strange gift you have!!


You've been looking in my head again, and reading my thoughts! You have given a voice to my deepest and darkest fears.....ones so frightening, I find it impossible to find the words to describe.


Yes, it's all true.....this is my worst nightmare, for a vegetarian to meet their maker via a bag of flesh eating ferrets, albeit talking ones, is bad enough, but to have Pat Morgan stood, uninvited in your front room is a step too far in anybodys' book! 


Scary stuff indeed!


I miss your posts.........this will sustain me for about three days.......then I shall need another fix of mayhem and madness!!

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An odd thing just happened.


I nipped up the stairs to pop a hot water bottle in my bed, to make it all warm and snuggly, when I heard it.


A strange scratching noise, just outside my window.


My heart beating like a drum, I peeped out. I can't be sure, but in the orange glow of the street light, I saw what appeared to be several ferrets running down the road........




They're coming for me!!!!


I've bolted the door, locked the windows and said three Hail Marys. I'm sitting here now with a crucifix balanced on the keyboard, convinced I'll not see morning!


I think another large glass of red will calm my nerves.........

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