I'm running out of space for things now. It's beyond a joke. I've got to try and shift this near-life-sized statuette of a whistling agricultural boy and a bag of outsized pot pourri. I mean, what do I want with pot pourri? The gypsies might buy it, I suppose, and your grandma might have been tempted, but I'm trying to appeal to a different kind of clientele. And I still can't shift the erotic Italian picture of the naked man, not even for £30...See if you can get hold of another one of those budgie jugs for me, will you? They must have hundreds of them down in the South-East; they're classier down there.
Stop driving so fast! Are you trying to give me angina?
No comments:
Post a Comment