Day 67

5.02: As home-grown armoury goes, welding a flame-thrower to your scooter is just about a step up from attaching a pair of compasses to your egg whisk, or giving your gerbil spurs, but not by much.

Still this chap can shoot fire from the back of his moped like José Carreras bellowing bass notes. The effect seems to be pretty much that of a thirteen-year-old boy in chemistry class spraying Lynx on a bunsen burner. Except, in this case, while purring at a sensible speed through a short-distance commute.

He’s clearly an ordinary guy – likes to go bowling; fish on a Friday – who’s got in over his head, and started a sensible job war, with some comedian on a Vespa, that he made a lewd gesture at at a No Right Turn sign. Next day, Vespa guy – trousers like Bagpuss; works in a shoe shop – comes back with an automatic souped-up egg-whisk-compass gadget  protruding from each of his handle bars, a spur-shod gerbil riding pillion with elastic bands and drawing pins. And it was so on.

In other news, Countdown contestants try to come up with something other than “FUCKED” from the letters F,U,C,K,E and D.

6.57: Picking up the pace a bit after yesterday’s slow start. There’s a good dose of gore in this chapter, slabs of the stuff spilling out of murdered bodies. Nothing like it to get you up and under starter’s orders of a morning.

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~ by David Thorley on March 25, 2010.

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