“One of the things most people take for granted is the ease with which they can clear their nasal passages. Jammy bastards… Walkin’ around, with their handkerchiefs and tissues, happy as Larry with the tools to deal with any blockages. They make it look so easy, the fuckers.

You see, I’ve never been able to blow my nose. Seriously. You know when you were a kid, and your mum might hold a rag or wipe to your face while saying ‘Blow’? Well, everything that came outta my nostrils on such occasions would go everywhere but the damn rage – and my conk wouldn’t be any less bunged up than before! So I sniff and snort and so on.

People often get irritated by my constant sniffling when I have a cold. My siblings would give out to me; ‘Just blow your nose, for fuck’s sake!’ Would that I could, my kin. Would that I could.

This is why the sneeze is just the most blessed, cathartic relief. Sneezing is the only way I can, in a socially acceptable fashion, clear my snout. Alas, the dreaded sniffles always begin again…”

There was silence for a few moments. Then the Right Honourable Sir Bassett Gormley-Featherstone cleared his throat.

“That is all very well and good, Lord Collyflower, but the questions put to you were, on point of fact, ‘How did the considerable amount of cocaine end up in your possession, why was it in your possession, and what were you planning to do with it?'”

Solidarité, fréres & soeurs…

About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Gibberish, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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