"Patricia was surprised to find her beard on fire."
"Maybe the camp stove was moved a little too higher."
"Maybe not, it was her lower beard, her burning bush"
"She therefore stepped backwards and was surprised to find that another petrol stove had failed, flaring its flame upwards. "How I wish I had simply bought a nice and sensible meths stove" she thought to herself.
She knew that it all went back to that terrible night in Llanthony."
Chapter 2 ;-)
She shuddered as the memories flooded back, the mud, the rain, the smell of damp waxed cotton and that strange, pungent smell that seemed to linger in the area of the old bloke with the weird sidecar outfit.
But what scared her the most was the realisation that she was also excited, her breathing quickened and she felt far too hot despite being almost naked under the too-tight black PVC Belstaff riding coat. She knew now that for all the horror of their previous meeting she had ever since nursed the dark secret that she craved his treatment, his smell, the hot sweet scent of Fishermans Friends and the dancing tingle of his beard on her bare neck...
just then...he farted.
They both blushed. "Don't worry" she said, "I was doing that for days after the last time we met". His blush deepened and there was an awkward silence. She couldn't stand it anymore, it had to be said. She turned to him and shouted it out, "whose idea was those bloody pickled eggs anyway?"
His reply was not to be expected, "lablulalabluhhhhblalbluuuh". He had lost the use of his tongue due the effects of the Chili Vokda.
