Language of the mad.

Drink up, shoot in, let the beatings begin, distributor of pain, your loss becomes my gain.

Arrived at Woodhall services a little late due to time passing as normal instead of passing around 33% slower than normal. I did not take this anomoly into account and on arrival the Secret Twitcher, who had already slaughtered a fox with his car by this time, had left me, thinking I was still sleeping in my slumber. We rearranged the meet for the next services on the Motorway1. This is important to the day's story so hold this thought.

We arrived at Pagham Harbour and got pretty cold and had very very great tickable flight views of the Paddyfield Warbler from a distance of 4 miles through the optical aid that is 8 x 42 binoculars. Hmmm, Dog's bollocks! And I do NOT use that phrase as a superlative. Mr Secret killed a bog standard, basic Rat with his car to which he was neither happy nor sad.

Onto Calshot in Hampshire. I picked out the Spanish Sparrow and got the few people present onto it... for a whopping 3 seconds. A lot of searching ensued yet we saw nothing more of the bird. Big Elephant's Cocks.

Into the New Forest. The Secret Twitcher had murdered an innocent Badger with his car much to his delight and shortly we found the site of the Slate Coloured Junco. It wasn't there and hadn't been seen. Hairy Pigs' hairy Slots!

'What a Big Horses Fat Vertical Bacon Sandwich' I said to Mr Secret as he dropped me off at the wrong side of Motorway1. He'd killed a small pony with his car and was licking the blood from his radiator grill.

I clambered my way over Motorway1 and found my facking mowta. Going the wrong way down Motorway1 I had to turn round. I turned round but the extra mileage used getting to the further services then onto the junction to turn round had used up most of my stored diesel. Big Donkey flanges!

Never mind, I've get enough to get me to the next services. Only just. A sign then adorned Motorway1: No Diesel at next services. Bull's Bells! Oh shit. No really. Shit. Off at the next junction. Found a garage immediately! Deep joy! No diesel, Sheep flaps. A distant Otter cried out in pain as Secret's car stoved it's fucking head in. Onwards. Really need a garage and where the fuck am I? Finds a garage in the nick of time. Dieselled up to fuck I set off. I'd travelled minus 5 miles in an hour and a half! Big *insert animal* hairy *insert genetalia euphemism*!

I missed my girls today which is an unusually soft and tender moment here on Q@Spurn and is a much needed respite from the stupid animal genetalia euphemisms that have afflicted this post thus far.






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