Back to nutters.
It is known that I venture to a pub near the office at lunchtime. Have done for years, with Mrs TMR (to be). Mrs TMR (to be) is no longer in the office, thus I wander alone to said pub. Today, Yoda Tel was there, but that's nothing to do with nutters.
On the way back, I walked my usual walk and the chap that lives two doors up from the Funeral Parlour was standing in his small front garden, pointing at aeroplanes. I have seen him countless times - a bemused looking gent of mid 60's and obviously of Irish descent judging by his mad gingerish hair, teeth by Shergar and a complete inablility to dress himself properly. He fixed me with his rictus grin and shouted "HAVE YOU LOST HER" !
To which I replied "Eh?"
"THE WIFE. HAS SHE GONE?! HAVE YOU PUT HER NEXT DOOR - IN THERE?
To which I replied "You're fucking mental, aren't you?"
"HAHAHAHAHA! WE'LL KILL THEM ALL".
Getting back to the office has never been quite so pleasurable.
