In contemplating the toilet-plunger ordered this week in response to a blockage, as so cordially invited to do by Amazon, the mind flashes back to the quagmire football pitches of lateVictorian England.
On reflection, I’m not convinced that the above makes any sense. It could well be that I’ve been at the magic mushrooms, and am in the midst of a mildly hallucinogenic reverie.
If it isn’t the ’shrooms, the point may perhaps concern the touching tale of the Corinthian Casuals football team and