The gentile peace of the old Cliff Top Mansion was shattered this morning by a frightful din. Those powerboat Johnnies make quite a racket, don't they?
Still, I was relieved to discover that the painful throbbing had not been brought on by the two bottles of Krug, chased down by several pints of the Gaddfather's finest, which I imbibed last night. Judging by the previous post, the combination would appear to be the perfect recipe for turning one into a sentimental old twat.
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