‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Ed, swinging his leg up onto his desk, ‘it’s ghastly!’
‘True,’ I agreed, ‘but lots of people have short, fat, hairy legs. They tend to run in a family!’
‘Not my leg, you twit!’ retorted Ed, ‘my sock. It’s a disaster!’
‘Green with pink spots does clash a bit with that blue suit,’ I admitted.
‘Those are not pink spots,’ insisted Ed, ‘they’re holes! I’ve got clothes-moths at home! They’re eating everything in the wardrobe. They’ll be at my suit next - it’s all wool, they’ll love it!’
‘My bruver’s got a spray fer moffs,’ said Arry, ‘he sells it on ‘is barra, dahn the market. I’ll get you a can. It’ll ‘ave ‘em dropping like flies!’
‘As long as they drop like moths I’ll be happy,’ replied Ed.
Well, Arry brought in a can of the spray and Ed set off for home that evening, determined to clobber the crawlies in his closet. But next morning, when he called us down to his office, he was hopping mad!
‘That spray has ruined my suit!’ he fumed, No wonder it was so cheap!’
‘The generous discount,’ explained Arry, in a posh voice, ‘resulted from an urgent requirement to dispose of ware’ouse stocks prior to the bulk purchase of new commodities! And anyway, there was somfink nasty in it what rotted cotton! But you said your suit was made of wool, so what’s the trouble? That waistcoat looks fine to me.’
‘My suit is all wool,’ snarled Ed, ‘but the seams aren’t! They’re cotton! And this isn’t my waistcoat, it’s my jacket. The sleeves fell off halfway to work!’
See you soon