Why Not, Hemlington
Sluggish. A struggle to get out of bed at 8:30 and I went down with a wrinkled brow and firm set jaw. Not many people have a firm set jaw in Hemlington. The dwarf-like man from Tavern Automatics had me helping him to carry out a useless video game. Appropriately enough, it was coffin shaped. The cleaners know that Tim is going to take over next week. I think that perhaps they have a bigger and better spy network that Yuri Andropov. More fog. Ally went to Marton, where she says the people seem normal. Even the shopkeepers in Hemlington are sadistic perverts. Ally often comes home with tales of woe from the local supermarket, often witnessing flying vegetables and canned peaches. Perhaps the insanity is due to something in the water supply? The BBC really should do a 'Panorama' on the violence here. Our last Thursday at the Why Not. No incidents and the night passed peacefully. Ally of course didn't stray from her boudoir where she lay in some discomfort as her tummy rippled, bulged like a vibrating blancmange. Possum has arranged to see Sister Matthews next Thursday afternoon and has made an appointment for me to see our dentist on Friday. Some teeth ache and I think I need a few fillings.
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