In uk.rec.motorcycles, muddy belched forth and ejected the following: Put it this way, we pondered for what seemed like, ooooo, ten minutes about whether the shuttle-cock shaped climbing frame in the kids' playground was made of and was it actually made of rope because it was swinging; same as the crane in the town, the rope from that was swinging, too. Oh, and I dared not eat crisps as the noise was so fucking loud I thought I'd wake up the neighbours. Heh, Happy daze, indeed. The name of the cat was a good idea at the time, it must've (from memory) done a lap of the town with us. We named it tibbiles by the block of flats next to Halfrauds.
