I was sitting in my exclusive London Gentlemen's Club the other day and did, perchance, to over-here two old gentlemen, sitting in their wing backed chairs either side of the roaring fire, it being required as global warming was in play and it was cold out there, discussing an old friend;
”I say old boy, did you here about Caruthers?”
”Old Caruthers? No old boy. Haven’t seen or heard from old Caruthers in a long time. What’s to do with the old boy?”
”Damndest thing. Seems he’s upped and left the memsahib.”
”Good Lord above! Old Caruthers? Left the memsahib?”
”Yes indeed old boy. Walked out on the memsahib and out of the stately pile. He’s taken up residence in a tree in the grounds.”
”Bless my sole! Old Caruthers? Living in a tree you say?”
”Living in a tree old boy. With a gorilla no less.”
”Old Caruthers living in a tree with a gorilla? Dear, dear me. Tell me old boy, this gorilla, is it male or female?”
”Oh, female old boy, female. Nothing queer about old Caruthers.”
From this exclusive London Gentlemen's Club it was a short stumble to another, less salubrious establishment, where I was greeted by a different telling of a very old storey. Well, they enjoyed it. And it was all caught on CCTV…..
Quote; Tom Knapp.
“Why do an infinite number of monkeys always want to type ‘Hamlet’? What's wrong with ‘Macbeth’? Why not something by Dickens or Poe?”
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