Doing battle with daily dragons

Friday, May 06, 2005

18-30

Boy Racer was, this morning, bemoaning the fact that he is no longer eligible to go on an 18-30 holiday. If he’s really honest with himself, I don’t think he would enjoy a holiday that almost guarantees being submerged up to your neck in a tub of penicillin upon your return.

“Potamus could still go,” he commented, “but she’d be playing mama the whole time.”

“Now you don’t want to go drinking a whole bottle of THAT. Just put it…no…put it down. Now, there’s no need for that, is there? No one wants to see Mr. Willy, so why don’t we put him back where he came from? That’s right. Now lets scrub that little bit of sick off of your best shirt, shall we? You’ll want to make a good impression on all of the young ladies at the discothèque this evening, won’t you? For heaven’s sake, stop drooling! Now, here are some prophylactics. We remember what they’re for, yes? No, they’re not for making beer balloons to drop over the balcony on guests around the pool….”

I shudder to think.