spat his dummy out at the main kurve ultras iirc

had a bit of a shouty at them. that evening delia studiously loaded a couple of rounds into the mess webley and left it on a red velvet cushion on the manager's desk for the morning. michael wynn-jones waited in the car listening to classic fm, the engine of his austin princess vanden plas ticking over at a low idle like a purring cat. "is it done darling?" he asked in a low gravelly rasp, the result of 40 smokes a day and serious bourbon habit as delia got in and closed the door with a satisfying clunk the trademark of well made british cars of the 1970 era and the envy of the rest of the world. the rain lashed against the car the windscreen wipers struggling to cope even on the highest setting. "it is indeed done michael, we are now in the market for a worthy successor" she let out a nervous laugh at her own joke. "good", michael pulled down his snap brimmed fedora, selected first gear and gunned the accelerator to the floor, they set off to stowmarket wheels spinning, leaving behind the smell of burning rubber that always did strange things to him. by chance, ride of the valkyries wafted out of the car stereo, michael turned it up to ten and sparked up another malboro gold "i bloody love this woman he told himself".

Posted By: Tombs, Oct 26, 13:10:45