So, last weekend I trolled down to a reasonably local tent exhibition, to ogle the goods and cackle about the relative merits of bijou canvas latties with the exhibitionists. I'm not really a tentist, you see, it's more camping between jobs...
It's important to check these things out, eek-to-eek as it were, after all, I don't want to splash out hard-earned handbag on something cod!
Anyway, after a little mince round the field, feasting my greedy orbs on several quite impressive erections, I asked the omi in charge if I might be bold enough to try one or two out, explaining that I am quite nante experience in camping. He was dolly enough to send his cove round with me in case I got myself into trouble.
Now, I'm not expecting anything big enough to play the strillers in, nothing too zhooshy, and I intend to be dossing on me todd sloane, but I was quite taken aback at how compact some of them are. After I climbed into the first one me lallies were sticking out, and there was absolutely no room for me shush bag.
The next one was quite roomy, but pink. I'd have felt like I was sleeping in drag, and the morning light would have been filtered through rose tinted oglefakes.
Finally, I found the very thing I was charpering for, absolutely bona for the tober. I was all set to deal out the measures to blag it, when the naff chicken saw fit to inform me "Nish, mate, nante in stock!"
Well, I was so upset I had to head straight to the bungery for a quiet vogue and a stiff vera!
Exhibitionists? You can keep 'em! Next time I'll give me plates a rest and order a tent on the palare pipe.
You been listening to and playing with your horn too much ... ooooh in eee bold :0)
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