This week Sesame Southend Street was brought to you by the letter ‘M’.
She really needs to move on from the A level English Lit texts. We've had Sylvia Plath and I'm bored with Cat on a Hot Tin
Can Roof now
just like I was in 1990. She really isn't Brick.
Prick, maybe. We've already covered the sodding Wasteland as well.
Mind you, whilst the Edinburgh pilgrimage was too late in the year to count as truly Chaucerian, the voys she hath as smal as hath a goot - and it seems as though old Geoff could easily have written whan that she fond a povr
e person dwellynge upon lond, upon a day she gat her moore money
e than that the person gat in month
es twey
e;
And thus with feyn
ed flaterye and jap
es, she made the person and the peple her ap
es. But trew
ely to tellen att
e last
e, she was in chirche a noble ecclesiast
e about her.
A good candidate for illustrating the hubris of Beowulf as well. She'd need to tear somebody's arm off on the train rather than just kick them in the shins, though. I'm sure she's got the upper body strength for that, too.