You got married? Good for you!
What will you take to be paid out?’ said the butcher. ‘The regular chummage is two–and–six. Will you take three bob?’ ‘And a bender,’ suggested the clerical gentleman. ‘Well, I don’t mind that; it’s only twopence a piece more,’ said Mr. Martin. ‘What do you say, now? We’ll pay you out for three–and–sixpence a week. Come!’
Any time I let a kindergarten crowd like that work a trick on me that was invented right after Noah discovered spoiled grape juice, I owe myself a month in jail.
If the thought of crab-walking with an oozing, mucous-like mud sucking at your boots and gloves makes you think that caving might not be the sport for you, you might be a blennophobe, someone who is afraid of slime.
