Ah, that's better - fresh air and the rolling Pentlands, not dank sweat and the peeling magnolia of a Bar L hotel room.
Who would have thought that it was still a criminal offence to impersonate a Chelsea Pensioner? Fortunately (you may disagree), it is no longer a capital offence, even though it was indeed a capital offence - caught in the act with a bagful of semtex and the plans to the Tower. Seems the Queen wants those crown jewels more than I realised (she should keep them in a jewellery box on her dressing table like Mrs Soothsayer if they mean that much to her).
I see that there have been lies, damned lies, and Unn Truths since my incarceration at Her Majesty's finest Caledonian guesthouse. If you have been struck by the recent general lack of comment on this site from the usual suspects, I have to tell you all now that my time in t'other place was not a lonely one: Sammy 'Mayhem' Flynn was in there, claiming he was simply trying to illustrate his point (it went on too long to be merely hypothetical, and the jury rapidly saw through his strange modernist defence). Graham was in solitary, which even he would admit is better than being sent to Coventry - charged with felony without a surname. On a related note, John Hacker was doing five to ten for taking his surname literally. Ben was doing a ten stretch for just being Ben. John 'Blancmange' Omlor was acting up with the Hispanics, tooled up with a gun made of soap. Very surreal.
Even more surreal was the steady flow of visitors of the fairer gender. Mrs Fiddymont practically had a tent outside. Archaic came over as often as the ferry. Babybird67 - despite her stunning beauty - disappointed the entire building when she arrived alone. Jessica Pisces slipped in under a pseudonym, and Janey Welland got a job as resident poet. It was like yet another party at John Omlor's house - every night raving 'til dawn with the smoke far sweeter than roll-ups.
But now the party is over. I've got a date with my parole officer - I think you all know who it is - and the ankle tag actually works now that the Prison Service finally twigged on to the need to put batteries in them. So who knows when I'll be able to find time to help you all solve the Original Crime?
PS Remind me to tell you the story about my bus journey home and the yellow ribbons ...
Who would have thought that it was still a criminal offence to impersonate a Chelsea Pensioner? Fortunately (you may disagree), it is no longer a capital offence, even though it was indeed a capital offence - caught in the act with a bagful of semtex and the plans to the Tower. Seems the Queen wants those crown jewels more than I realised (she should keep them in a jewellery box on her dressing table like Mrs Soothsayer if they mean that much to her).
I see that there have been lies, damned lies, and Unn Truths since my incarceration at Her Majesty's finest Caledonian guesthouse. If you have been struck by the recent general lack of comment on this site from the usual suspects, I have to tell you all now that my time in t'other place was not a lonely one: Sammy 'Mayhem' Flynn was in there, claiming he was simply trying to illustrate his point (it went on too long to be merely hypothetical, and the jury rapidly saw through his strange modernist defence). Graham was in solitary, which even he would admit is better than being sent to Coventry - charged with felony without a surname. On a related note, John Hacker was doing five to ten for taking his surname literally. Ben was doing a ten stretch for just being Ben. John 'Blancmange' Omlor was acting up with the Hispanics, tooled up with a gun made of soap. Very surreal.
Even more surreal was the steady flow of visitors of the fairer gender. Mrs Fiddymont practically had a tent outside. Archaic came over as often as the ferry. Babybird67 - despite her stunning beauty - disappointed the entire building when she arrived alone. Jessica Pisces slipped in under a pseudonym, and Janey Welland got a job as resident poet. It was like yet another party at John Omlor's house - every night raving 'til dawn with the smoke far sweeter than roll-ups.
But now the party is over. I've got a date with my parole officer - I think you all know who it is - and the ankle tag actually works now that the Prison Service finally twigged on to the need to put batteries in them. So who knows when I'll be able to find time to help you all solve the Original Crime?
PS Remind me to tell you the story about my bus journey home and the yellow ribbons ...
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