Your osteopath may very well be called Norman, but that doesn’t give you the right to keep all the shuttlecocks within your kitchen cupboard, at least not when some of us have taken it upon ourselves to read bedtime stories to the penguins you left in the waiting room on that one particular Thursday.
Now, I know you like to polish your banjo whilst sitting naked in the centre of the fresh fruit and vegetable aisle of your local supermarket, but there have been questions asked about your true musical abilities and the state of your expense claims. Was it really necessary to that with the pineapple and the baronet, especially without a suitable lubricating agent or even a signed photograph of Val Doonican? I know you have a thing about goats, but that is just taking a bit too far, especially whilst wearing that particular cardigan.
Once we knew all the names of the lupins that gathered around d the path to our scullery door, but now the wainscoting grows faded and our vestibule is no longer as pristine as it was in the days of the leather kangaroo annoying harness you used to wear when mucking out the lawyer sties.
However, I still keep that particular liquorice toffee in the special jar, as you taught me all those years ago, and still my knees have not throbbed when in the presence of a dairymaid, like they used to. For that I will always be grateful, if a little sore just above the left elbow.