The rain is doing its sleety thing again and the pavements are wet and skiddy with debris from dead Christymas Trees.
Nigel the Geezer – a most direct and insensitive Aries – is on his way to the station, his red bits redder than Rudolph’s Schnozzer.
He necks a quick glass of Etoh with the tabblies and here’s Bonzo – a most impulsive and compulsive Scorpio – as if by magic.
“Oi. Do you want my Uncle Frankie to come over and sort out Tony the Tosser? He’d be v. discreet . . . and because it’s so hot at the moment . . . he wouldn’t bring his car coat with him . . . good idea?”
“Doesn’t he need the carcoat though to hide the . . . er . . . implement . . .when he’s “tooled up””.
“Nah . . . fingernails in the eyeballs are his speciality! He’ll bring his own towel for after”.
“I think there must be other ways”.
“Issa lodda money though . . . I am indignant on your behalf, me old spunker”.
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