People get so tired of hearing promises, promises and promises, and then when they get elected it's the same old, same old, Browning said.

I thought this stuck-up debutard lived in Jolly Olde.

They were cutting aftermath on all sides, which gave the neighbourhood, this gusty autumn morning, an untimely smell of hay.

Woss your poison, Jazz? Can I have a glass of chilled white wine?