Well, it's not a ship, but you get the idea, I'm sure. Mr Bolton isn't leaving it. And he'll go down with the ship if he has to. (Obviously, it ain't a ship.) You've got to admire him. And you've got to admire all the others in the band, playing their violins. (What am I going on about? Maybe it's one of those days, like all the days, really. Nothing changes.) The trust fell by 30 per cent last year. I mean, the ship. I suppose it could be worse. Mr Bolton could be the boat. 'I thought it was a ship?' (Shut it! Boat is a ship.) And he could be drunk, washed in vomit and stained with blue wine, dreaming of green nights and glittering snow. Oh dear. Just imagine that!
Right, enough already! I've got a big conceptual post coming up with Mike Corcell, and I need to mentally prepare myself for it.
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Right, enough already! I've got a big conceptual post coming up with Mike Corcell, and I need to mentally prepare myself for it.
