The Righteous do have a sense of humour……
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1
May 28, 2009 at 6:54 pm -
Number 999 Letsby Avenue, I believe!
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2
May 28, 2009 at 7:32 pm -
Brilliant – will repost.
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3
May 28, 2009 at 8:33 pm -
I think the forces of guffaw and oh-dear must have been thick in the air at that Town Planners’ meeting!
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4
May 28, 2009 at 8:40 pm -
Head of Sheffield’s Planning Department, Laura Norda, was today unavailable for comment.
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6
May 28, 2009 at 9:58 pm -
‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello. Having a happy chuckle Gloria! Nice one.
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7
May 28, 2009 at 10:18 pm -
That might be a bit previous, Anna; I’ve just spent 50 minutes in a queue waiting to speak to her deputy, Laura Biding and when I eventually spoke to her she admitted she’d also like to know how Letsby Avenue ever been passed, commenting that it “stuck out like a sore thumb and anyone could see it was a joke at the expense of the police.” She then added that she wasn’t prepared to say any more because that would be against the rules and I should appreciate that her hands were tied.
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8
May 28, 2009 at 10:27 pm -
A bit of a chuckle janes – you can’t beat it, can you?
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9
May 28, 2009 at 10:28 pm -
My village is twinned with another in Japan and during a recent visit their village policeman, Lao san Ass, said that as the local bobby he came in for a lot of stick.
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10
May 28, 2009 at 10:48 pm -
Our village policeman is part of an exchange programme – he’s called Hans Cuff. You couldn’t make it up, could you?
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11
May 28, 2009 at 10:52 pm -
You certainly couldn’t Gloria. When I discovered our local bobby was living in 12, Furze Copse, you could have knocked me down with a feather.
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12
May 28, 2009 at 10:52 pm -
Nice one We drove through Sheffield today My Pater and I
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13
May 28, 2009 at 11:04 pm -
PC Hans Cuff never uses a feather to knock any miscreant down, he’s rumoured to have a canvas tube filled with iron filings secreted about his person for those occasional difficult arrests. They hurl him out of an unmarked van during the hours of dusk and collect him after a night of combat in front of where the old Post Office used to be. And how odd that your own beloved Dixon lives at that address! The address of our village Police House and pocket jail facility used to be 13 Furze Corpse, but they changed the address for some reason when central control suddenly decided a village detention facility was no longer necessary and the whole site was bulldozed to make way for Canary Close!
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14
May 28, 2009 at 11:16 pm -
Funnily enough our chap’s previous address was Canary Pnark. Somethimes I fink the police deliberately choose these memorable names on purpose.
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15
May 28, 2009 at 11:17 pm -
You may have the tautology for nothing.
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16
May 28, 2009 at 11:28 pm -
You could be onto something there. Until very recently our Bobby would cycle forth once a year and knock with omen upon every door in the village as he rode along what we were encouraged to think of as the Cycle Trail of Evidence; of course it was all a huge joke and we soon found that if we offered Plod a few fiver sandwiches made with a cold meat and a wrote on the slab of ham a single name in connection with one of several unsolved village crimes then Plod would cycle away without insisting that we all had our irises digitally mapped or our oral DNA scooped up onto a cotton bud after we’d all been ‘encouraged’ to submit dental impressions.
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17
May 28, 2009 at 11:32 pm -
It is only because I was taut so well that I passed so many ‘ologies’.
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18
May 28, 2009 at 11:37 pm -
Funnily enough I also have an ‘ologie so I am, according to BT, a scientist. Anyway, getting back to the police, a PC Plod once tried to digitally map my irisis but got a bunch of fives for his trouble. He disappeared a few days later. The investigation into his absence drew quite a lot of media attention. It became evident that Plod had also had an altercation with a Mr. O. Holborn who went missing around the same time. Perhaps one day we will discover the truth. Poor Plod.
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19
May 29, 2009 at 12:06 am -
Perhaps, one day, we will indeed discover the truth and I have faith that The Telegraph will turn its burning beam of magnified inquiry on the not-so-small matter of misappropriation of village funds should ever the Parliamentary Expenses issue prove to be an avenue barren of front-page newsworthy revelations.
Rest assured, dear janes, that I shall breathe not one jot to a cop the slightest hint of any suggestion that I know anything about an indignant fist being swung forcefully onto the jaw of an officer of the ‘leauw’ in the unlikely eventuality that the fist-wielder might be asked to be asked to submit to a mapping of their irises. No, not never, once, twice or anytime (tautologically speaking) would I ever, ever be tempted to discuss such a topic and in doing so unintentionally suggest that a certain tank-driving punctuationally-pedantic person might be worthy of further investigation. (No, not me, not anytime, never, not no how)
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