Sentence The Onehundredandfiftyfirst
Now, wrote Teri this morning, it seems that, in attempting to tell the tales of Bernie Westwater, Martin Elginbrod, The Man with the Size 13 Boots, and The Grassmarket and Cowgate Community Policing Hub Officers, in tandem with The Justice League of Auld Reekie, The Revenue and other interest groups, all of which – were I indexing these tales in a Wikipedia entry would, after the first reference to The Adventures of Daphne and Maude, thereafter be followed by ibidem, after ibidem, or more succinctly: ibid, ibid, ibid like the call of the Greater Lesser Spotted Stripy Shady Lady Wood-Pecking Nut-Cracking Nightingale of Berkeley Square – left the party of Day Trippers high and dry on The Bass Rock, or, to quote a deplorably coarse but oft-used expression, which, if I had uttered it in my Mother's presence would have black-affronted her – to wit Up Shit Creek Without a Paddle – so, prompted by my sweetheart, Nikki Marianella, I feel obliged to sail to their rescue: and as it so happened that a dreadful storm blew up on that hitherto fine and sunny afternoon, the party found themselves beleaguered on that tiny isle and dependant upon the hospitality of The Bass Rock Tea-Room and Hostel where, together with Effie Dalkeith, her indefatigable kitchen staff, mischievous waitresses and energetic housemaids, all were accommodated and a thoroughly
enjoyable night was spent, with all the hatches battened down and while the storm raged, The Lady rode the swell in her sheltered anchorage and not a single man was present to spoil the fun; and as the storm roared on for the next week or so, and all communication with the outside world was non-existent, the assembled women and girls played many games of Postie's Knock, Blind Dame's Buff, Hunt the Thimble and Monopoly; marathon Tag-Teams played interminable games of Cluedo and Trivial Pursuit in different quarters of the establishment at any hour of the day or night, and pairs, trios and foursomes could have been seen moving from one entertainment to another, while the wine cellars of the establishment became depleted, and the Doughty (not to say Doughy) Cook was obliged to produce many variations of Sea-Gull Pie or Roast Goose to feed her flock; and the Flock Upon The Rock thus entered into the consciousness of the Nation when they were eventually located by a boarding party of the only all-female Lifeboat in Scotland on the 14th day of their tribulations: who were quite surprised to see the happy, smiling and obviously well-fed castaways they had come to rescue; The Lady was scrubbed out and dried out on that first sunny morning since the storms began, and by the afternoon, with all hands on deck, and the Trippers, Tea-Room and Hostel Staff, and a stray cat which had been washed out to sea and found itself adopted by Effie, made their weary, dishevelled and thoroughly shagged out return to Gullane, to be welcomed at The Jolly Boatman where they told such of their tales as were fit for a company which included males of the species and many of them were interviewed for Reporting Scotland by that sweet and delightful reporter, the
lineaments of whose face so please my eye, Catriona Granton, and so all became Famous for 15 Minutes as is the Way of the Modern World!
Now, wrote Teri this morning, it seems that, in attempting to tell the tales of Bernie Westwater, Martin Elginbrod, The Man with the Size 13 Boots, and The Grassmarket and Cowgate Community Policing Hub Officers, in tandem with The Justice League of Auld Reekie, The Revenue and other interest groups, all of which – were I indexing these tales in a Wikipedia entry would, after the first reference to The Adventures of Daphne and Maude, thereafter be followed by ibidem, after ibidem, or more succinctly: ibid, ibid, ibid like the call of the Greater Lesser Spotted Stripy Shady Lady Wood-Pecking Nut-Cracking Nightingale of Berkeley Square – left the party of Day Trippers high and dry on The Bass Rock, or, to quote a deplorably coarse but oft-used expression, which, if I had uttered it in my Mother's presence would have black-affronted her – to wit Up Shit Creek Without a Paddle – so, prompted by my sweetheart, Nikki Marianella, I feel obliged to sail to their rescue: and as it so happened that a dreadful storm blew up on that hitherto fine and sunny afternoon, the party found themselves beleaguered on that tiny isle and dependant upon the hospitality of The Bass Rock Tea-Room and Hostel where, together with Effie Dalkeith, her indefatigable kitchen staff, mischievous waitresses and energetic housemaids, all were accommodated and a thoroughly
enjoyable night was spent, with all the hatches battened down and while the storm raged, The Lady rode the swell in her sheltered anchorage and not a single man was present to spoil the fun; and as the storm roared on for the next week or so, and all communication with the outside world was non-existent, the assembled women and girls played many games of Postie's Knock, Blind Dame's Buff, Hunt the Thimble and Monopoly; marathon Tag-Teams played interminable games of Cluedo and Trivial Pursuit in different quarters of the establishment at any hour of the day or night, and pairs, trios and foursomes could have been seen moving from one entertainment to another, while the wine cellars of the establishment became depleted, and the Doughty (not to say Doughy) Cook was obliged to produce many variations of Sea-Gull Pie or Roast Goose to feed her flock; and the Flock Upon The Rock thus entered into the consciousness of the Nation when they were eventually located by a boarding party of the only all-female Lifeboat in Scotland on the 14th day of their tribulations: who were quite surprised to see the happy, smiling and obviously well-fed castaways they had come to rescue; The Lady was scrubbed out and dried out on that first sunny morning since the storms began, and by the afternoon, with all hands on deck, and the Trippers, Tea-Room and Hostel Staff, and a stray cat which had been washed out to sea and found itself adopted by Effie, made their weary, dishevelled and thoroughly shagged out return to Gullane, to be welcomed at The Jolly Boatman where they told such of their tales as were fit for a company which included males of the species and many of them were interviewed for Reporting Scotland by that sweet and delightful reporter, the
lineaments of whose face so please my eye, Catriona Granton, and so all became Famous for 15 Minutes as is the Way of the Modern World!
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