BatteredFish
New member
It was Saturday morning at Battered Towers, an ex stately home in Coventry.
It was a morning much like any other. The sun peaked over the gas works. The milkman didn't trundle by, as they don't do that anymore because it's cheaper to get a four pinter from the supermarket, a reporter digressed and Battered offices had just been cleaned by Consuela, the maid, who pops in to take care of a few "odds and ends" around the place.
Consuela made her way across the bailey and the lowered the drawbridge to where the wheelie bins are kept. As she opened the lid of the wheelie bin, she discovered that there was no room to place the sack of half eaten lobster shells and empty Bolly bottles due to it being filled to overflowing with what appeared to be cat jokes and feline related humorous materials.
What caused such a casual waste of such fine comedic scribblings?
It was a morning much like any other. The sun peaked over the gas works. The milkman didn't trundle by, as they don't do that anymore because it's cheaper to get a four pinter from the supermarket, a reporter digressed and Battered offices had just been cleaned by Consuela, the maid, who pops in to take care of a few "odds and ends" around the place.
Consuela made her way across the bailey and the lowered the drawbridge to where the wheelie bins are kept. As she opened the lid of the wheelie bin, she discovered that there was no room to place the sack of half eaten lobster shells and empty Bolly bottles due to it being filled to overflowing with what appeared to be cat jokes and feline related humorous materials.
What caused such a casual waste of such fine comedic scribblings?