Tweed Brigade!

Unfortunately my weekends now involve adhering to a strict itinerary of mapped walks, dressed like the twatting tweed brigade, compass in hand, within the Flannigan’s grounds (as if we’re going to get lost, they own the fucking land!) The only arousal I experience is when I accidentally on purpose step in a cow pat and flick my foot toward one of their intolerable guests – especially funny when it knocked Egbert’s tweed cap clean off his head – bull’s-eye!