I am knackered after a bizzy night of over-realistic dreaming.
I had to read a mahoosive book for some exam or other, but kept getting interrupted.
The baby I rescued as it tumbled into the river came back to life, but it ought not to have been coxing a rowing eight to begin with
The ambulance crrew were very nice, even though one had a foot where his right hand ought to have been
And my invention of the Arran knit hooded boiler suit caught on amazingly amongst the yoof, despite my dad's rage at the stoopidity of the idea.
I think this combination of pills is not good
PS And what was all that stuff about the inflatable ostrich?
