Doctor Fun was The Three O’Clock At Kempton’s most popular columnist. Though there wasn’t much competition, to be fair.
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We asked him what he’s been up to in the wilderness years since last putting ink on quill on paper. Here’s the response:
‘The Wilderness (beast) Years’
The year was ‘sometime’. Treat had become (and was) undone.
Torti should be tortoise singular. A bio-pedigree in lieu of thrash swabs on Bunkers corn cold meat.
Flask full of solids of tertiary former sunk like pips of a coinless end to a critical call. I’m begun of glistening and back on the hoss cart of nevermore.
3k ceased and thy beguile turned to arse Gandhi in the house of. The cord was disconnected and no food in fluid cussed my way on the night train into mouth central. I was out and the terraces still stood* at Boothferry Park.
The shirts came and went. My fame flame pouted then shrank to invisibilities cotton, ‘fice to say,
I was no more and so much so. I cannot recall that year of our (Malcolm) Lord.
Far from Rabat and building stoical social fleet meetings from empire of fates
collaborations. All colour coded and specious foreboding. Owl was not a clever fella.
Fact black back in 2007. Boiling a year spent impersonal frock of implosions toast.
2008. Out of the gravy boat and onto the plate. Jigsaw. Squid things and a salver of ming for tea. Cookery classes for the masses so sculpted duck floated on the watery see-saw of perils bleak sassying in the chassis of a monk’s luck. City made the gratifier purr like a smitten in luxury accom with working intercom.
Now I hear the beep chest calling. I am back.
* NB like badger erectus