1880′s
That is meant to be his head, right…?
…and the fellow is standing up…?
Hang on… Hang on, if thats his head, those must be his arms and that there must be his Ding Dong!
“Get your lips tighter around it, you’re dribbling.”
This was the third time in the space of ten minutes I had to draw attention to Miss Rotterlicks’ technique. She looked up to me with those bugged eyes of hers, blessed with all the grace of a grasshopper. As she always did in these scenarios, she began to go faster.
Ah, my good man! Is the guest room ready for my chum Hans’ arrival tomorrow?
Oh superb! Knowing Hans I’ll bet he’ll be wanting to have a good old wrestle when he arrives. Might be an idea to make some space in here.
Nightcap? What an excellent idea. What’s that rather dusty bottle at the back? Well I’ll be, a bottle of Old Overholt rye whiskey. That must be, what, nearly thirteen years old. You know, I got it during that year I spent traveling around the Northern Americas shortly after finishing reading Latin at Oxford. In fact, I can be more precise than that. It was in March 1888. Have I ever told you about the most blasted blizzard?