…until a smoke-free England. Huzzah!
One day our children will climb onto our knees and ask, “Daddy,” (for that is my name), “did you really have to wash your trousers after every trip to the pub?” Yes, we’ll tell them, those were hard days. I wore my knuckles to the bone on the dial of that Zanussi.
Persil must be bricking it. I hear they have their very best boffins working on new kinds of dirt as you read this.
What’s the fuss? If you still want to smoke, just go into your garden, make a bonfire of jamba leaves and inhale deeply. That’s what we gorills do in the Congo.
Don’t forget it’s 2nd April in Wales. Have to visit the mother-in-law in Cardiff at Easter and have a couple of pints of Brains Dark!