So me and my mate were out the other night being Ladies Wot Dine at one of the Grey Toon's favourite establishments, Le Ristorante Poshe.
Awaiting our fine cuisine, we were few glasses into a bottle of fine pink wine and starting to put the world to rights. Neds? What's to be done with them! The Grey Toon Bypass? A shocking state of affairs! The Grey Toon Housing Market? What's the world coming to! And why the hell did they grind the Grey Toon to a standstill for months just to do THAT to Market Street!?
Finally, we got around to discussing Council Tax.
"And we've gone up to a band B! says I, indignantly. And a a slightly higher volume than usual as the backround noise was quite loud. "We used to be an A! Up to a Band B! Upgraded!"
"Why's that then?" says my friend. "Well... Maybe it's because there's not a knocking shop on the ground floor now!" I guffaw.
You know those bloody natural silences you get in public places? Just when you're shouting out something really inappropriate for the place you're in? I time it right every sodding time.
Well... Not that many years ago I lived above a brothel in the Grey Toon in Scotland. Out of a confused mixture of irritation and amusement, I started to blog about it.
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