She'll take them to bed with her, and she'll give them stuff to make them feel like lords of creation, and they'll play round games. Then one day they'll wake up in shackles in her playroom.

Unless we find a million pounds by Monday, the company will go bust. We really are in the last chance saloon.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and this cartoon of Fakestinian land, from some ignorant loon's blog, is worth a thousand words on typical Fakestinian bopkess, and the antisemitic mental defectives who shovel it.

The cheesevats, butter, and cheese in Charles's inventory (not itemised in Isabel's) indicate that Isabel makes her own.