The main cliches of doglore are well represented. There is a singing dog; a nervous postie (some of the blokes who do this route call it death row); a disgusted terrace-house dweller weary of the sight and odour of dog crap on her nature strip […]

The same daye went Jesus out off the housse, and sat by the seesyde, and moch people resorted unto him, so gretly that he went and sat in a shyppe, and all the people stode on the shoore.

And like billes, mutatis mutandis, were put In ayenst Gloucestre & Worcestre

Those sixtysomethings are always lounging around the cabana.