Give the gym a wide berth tonight. No joke. I just saw Leroy chatting to Olga by the stinking cookhouse wastebins and decided to creep closer, hoping to gain some intelligence of this clandestine tryst.
Nothing much except a lot of hoochie coochie diddums talk from daft Leroy. Olga's facial characteristics then flickered and changed shape hideously in the pulsating ruddy glare of the boilerhouse furnace. She shyly pressed her left ear into her broad left shoulder as she giggled, and scraped the ground coyly with the toe of her steel-capped commando boot while he tickled one of her chins. 'Mascara' broke away in crumbs from her fluttering eyelids and rolled over her heavily rouged cheeks which had been coloured with brickdust ground away from the gents' lavatory wall. The eyelid preparation was scraped from the kitchen stovepipe's sooty deposit and mixed with a little rancid porkfat to give it some properties of adherence.
Anyway, she suddenly squealed in triumph and swept daft Leroy aloft, and as he resembled something between a rag doll and a druid sacrifice, galloped towards the darkened gymnasium as fast as her elephantine legs could carry them.
I don't know what she had in store for him but I have considered several intriguing possibilities...and we will almost certainly need a relief barman/maid tonight...and tomorrow.
'Find your enemy and shoot him down - everything else is unimportant.'
