Oh Heaven, help our Linda! She's really done it now What's more it's all so obvious I mean, her stomach's sticking out. If father tells me' mother, she's bound to have a fit, followed by a neat convulsion, thanks to our permissive twit. She thinks his name was Ronald Or was it Sid or Len? The only thing that's certain, is that it wasn't Bill or Ben. Our parish priest, God bless him, the very reverend Father Pitt, will no doubt be preaching sermons to our dear permissive twit. By now the word will no doubt have been heard by almost every bleeding nosy parker in our alley, all except, that is, our own great aunt Liz, who I hear's been deaf since the day our Grace recorded Sally, Sally, Sally... Unless we raise the money, she'll have to let it out What I mean is, she will have to have it the right way, wrong way about. In other words, let nature take its course and do its bit, for the sake of those concerned with our |: dear permissive :| dear permissive twit!