‘I do all the work round ‘ere, Della,’ Jack said, offended, making his case quite plausibly he thought, but Della had no time to react with a counter argument, as Beryl came in and fired off several bursts of her M25 machine g*n – at least we think it was an M25, it could have been another motorway, but the resultant effect was there was no counter left for Della to argue with, and the stainless steel extract canopy over the cooking range fell onto the gunman’s head and knocked him out, but not before he let off a salvo of his own, which shot Archie’s foot off.
Martin leaned to the collapsed Archie Pointe-Lace, and managed a comforting woof, the gist of which was, I know what that feels like, and he could recommend the new pink plastic feet.
Jack picked up the Kalashnikov and accidentall
