I give you in no ascending order;
1) " 5.98!" shout it in a chinese accent. Use it as a way out of difficult wet evening post hotel dining choices.
2) Lick my lid... not as possibly supposed a rude invitation merely a sweet gesture of the intimacy afforded when eating yoghurts in tandem.
3) Fiona Bruce not Michael Aspel ? Shurely crimewatch antique thugs now have a new Sunday slot to fill ?
I lived it...I ask you?
I cannot even put an E and a kiss on the computer because it spells 'Ex'
unless I place one under the other for you all...hence
E
x[/b]
And so the saga ( saga holiday) continues...
As I walk this escalator they call life I stumble across my idea for second life Bond Baddie ideas part one they are as such;
1) Decide if world harmony enhancement is possible e.g giving peace a chance then decide to practice world peace in Second Life. That way if doesn't work I can blame my avataar....
2) Trail all known presenters of BBc1 childrens programme Screen Test and ask them to make sure they bring it back soon.
3) Wear milk shake clothing in future and only answer sensible questions about ones realatives.
Pass the pastie to the left hand side pass the pastie to the left hand side
Come on sing my musical youth sing !!!
love the
real noodle
remember
£5.
9
8
shout it
we must start
an
evolution
E
xx
more too soon
I attach the thing that needs disabling to make sure the attached thing does not become enabled. This makes sure the macro I have written works on the micro. The www takes care of the rest by using HTML.
This really is the beginning of all purpose instruction code is it it not?
HAMLET: 2b or nt 2b tht is the ?
SMS? Skaespeare messaging systems!! ( hurrah...a practical use)
Easy...make sure that your love of Acker Bilk takes care of your rushing heart
easily slide into that and wedgewood yer?
lots of loco parentis
E
x
Today the blase
I go looking for the accent and become dwarfed by buildings.
Attendance at the fracture clinic brought out the poem 'accident tattoos'
Whilst struggling over a holiday breakfast in the beautifully titled Huntsman Dining Area.
I went to look over the old place.
I remember screwing to the fence the little brass number a 6 and two zeros. But the gates have been plucked out of their centuries old roots. The garden is now barren. A sun lounger reclines on the battered patio yearning to be lay on. All the rooms are stuffed with old belongings. But one thing is beautiful. In the grand hallway I could never fill an upright piano obviously played.
I became transfixed still looking through the letter box at that piano. The number still on the old gate...the time had moved on and everything was battered and dead. Perhaps the best sign, the boiler lying dead in the front garden...ours never worked properly.
I remembered
Whisper 5..9....8....
x
(!) X-D 
