What Ho Proles!
It's been indeed been a funny old day when I now come to sum it up from the comfort of my study in MurgatroidTowers. I'm quite alright now, but I did find myself delivered home in a state that was little less than quarrelsome. You might know that we members of the Murgatroid family are well known for our light hearted approach to life and our affable natures. Optimists, every one of us. However, even my Great Grand Uncle Hector P. Murgatroid, who lost his right lobe of manhood to the Boars, could not have been in a more sour mood than I.
You see, I had the rather unfortunate experience of having to take a taxi across London.
I should explain that the Bentley's currently in the shop along with my man who is undergoing his own minor surgery of a delicate nature. It's all hush hush, of course, so 'Mum' is indeed the word where this little case of the hemroids is concerned. I understand he's currently sitting on a packet of frozen peas in his attic room - which reminds me to instruct cook to restock the freezer with new petite pois...
He'll be right as rain, of course, but that's more than can be said about J.P.M this evening. Even for a man of my easy-going ways, the journey across London was a shocker. I was locked inside a rattling steel drum with a man who breathed terrible manners with every tortured vowel of the Queen's lingo. He insisted on talking my ears off all the way to Piccadilly. I doubt if his face had had seen a razor since Whitsunday.
It did lead me to another of the small conclusions I do like to draw about such circumstances. It's this: the Bentley really is a superior machine to even the fabled London taxi cab. It really strikes one as odd that not everybody prefers their luxury and would ever consider any other way to travel. I really don't know why I don't see more Bentleys on the road. They really are the finest cars, and I don't know what I'd do without mine.
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