Saturday, 18 December 2010

Noone preshiates me

Keith's nice. He's friendly. But he doesn't preshiate me. Dafvffn. Daaffnee. Daphphn. Mrs Hnaef doesn't preshiate me either.

M going to Bradford. That's what m going to do. To Bradford. Slike a bard with a ford, and bards are Beakerish. M only a chief assistant to the Archdruid here, but I could have my own Moooot Howse! My own one! There's a druid-sship there, n I think I'd be good druid. Brrilliant! Could have my own tea lights. N pebbles. No stupid, stupid reindeer to cleen. An tea lights. Have beakers, of course. Must have beakers. N tea lights. Tea lights.

But then, was does Keith say? What does he say? What? I'll tell you. What did he say again? He said something bout it.

Yes. I 'member. He says 'sno point going to Bradford, coz they're knocking it down. No. Not knocking it down. They're mangling it. Amangling it. Amalgamamting it. Joining it with a the other part of Yorkshire. The west part. Or the north part. S if there wasn't enough Yorkshire anyway. There won't be a Moot House in Bradford. Just one somweher else. So why to go Bradford?

But if I want to be my own druid, n my own Moot House, I can be a druid in Bradford if I want. N I don't have to ask Davnee. Daafffnn. Daffkne. Mrs Hnaef. M going on my own. Just need another beer furst. Let them try'n malgamate me!

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