It seems that I shouldn’t have been quite so open about my relationship with Jack Spratt. But it’s too late – I am now in trouble.
It all kicked off yesterday after my blog, when Spratt himself came round to see me after service, fuming and ranting and saying I was a f****** idiot and I didn’t know what I had done. But before I could begin to defend myself, there was a heavy knocking on my door and Spratt legged it out the back. It turned out to be the Animal and Plant Health Agency (who knew?), coming to ask me questions about the pigeon Spratt was providing me. No sooner had they gone than the police turned up. And the rest is now well chronicled history.
But in case you haven’t had a chance to read it yet, here is the full story as reported yesterday but the local rag.
The only person who will really enjoy reading this is Carotene Half. He must be pissing himself laughing, or whatever the equivalent Italian colloquialism is. I know I would be if it was him in the paper. God, what I wouldn’t do to see that.
In the meantime, as predicted by the erstwhile Chronicle, squab is indeed off the menu.
