I am so sorry. Really, I am.
BUT I have one damn good excuse.
I was wandering around on a farm that I occasionally visit, owned by my dear old friend Lady Evennia of Hertfordshire. The story behind our meeting is very long and precocious, though dazzlingly fascinating all the same; I shall summarise:
On my travels around Oxford I stumbled upon an elderly gentleman's club, full of some very fine looking women and lots of wooden poles - it was the sort of place that one instantly goes stiff upon entering, and you could tell that they always blamed this on the heating.
The Royal British Legion has housed many of my extensive Friday night raves, my only criticism of the place is the omnipotent stench of piss and damp leather radiating from the old men, in tow with their blasted walking sticks. I've never had any successful relationships with walking stick users, I normally end up tripping them up. They are just so damn irritating, with their incessant clunkety clunk jabbing!
Yes, I remember the night well. It was the 5th of August and I was completely gazeboed. I'd gone all stiff again, and had just finished admiring my sister-in-law's bed-cover. I was tempted to knock back a few Ocean Spray's to settle my bladder, which was about to explode in annoyance at her own incontinence. Fortunately though, the carpet was spared and nobody had reason to laugh at me; I set out on my usual journey to my faithful drinking chums, whom had eagerly welcomed this tradition since 1902.
I arrived and doffed my cap to the bouncer, he was a big Polish bloke - 5'2" at least, the arthritis kicked in the minute my eyes laid rest upon the bar
'Stiff again, Gerry?' Lazarus chuckled
'At least I'm not a bloody homosexual'
'Who said I am, darling!? Darcy! This gentlemen believes me to be a queer!'
'Good god!' Darcy screeched 'I hope you are'
Lazarus was clearly petrified at this remark, he hastily muttered 'Now now, Darcy, we've been over this' he slowed down as one would with a child 'I've had sex with you enough times to prove my hom-oh-sexuality'
'Fantastic! I need to use the toilet, I think I may need some help...'
Lazarus smiled at Darcy's request 'I'll be right with you, dear'
The whole time I was urinating myself with hysterics, right up until the moment the tall and slight woman with a rather unfortunate tick approached from the opposite table: her speech was broken, punctuated by a spasmodic jerking of her left ear,
'What' jerk 'is going' jerk 'on over here!?' big jerk
'What's it to you! Dog face.' I spat
'I'll' jerk 'have you' jerk 'know' jerk 'that I am' jerk 'Lady Evennia' jerk 'of Hertfordshire!' (I'll assume you get the picture about the tick, and so shall omit any other repetitions of its description)
'Oh! Do you like geraniums?'
'Do you have any?'
'In my palace... I can show you if you like'
'Does it rain a lot in Hertfordshire?'
'Only when I'm in town, baby'
And that's how to make a piglet and marmite sandwich.