Plink-plonk plink… plonk… plonk… plonk.
‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ said Mr Dear. Plonk. Plink plink. ‘Very nice, thank you,’ I said. ‘A strange man spilled egg mayonnaise on my top while he was on the way to the toilet, and then we rescued him from the woods, where he had fallen over.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Mr D, not really listening.
Plink plink pling… bong.
I should explain that Mr Dear is having the piano tuned, which explains the unusual accompaniment to this week’s edition.
