Recently, I have developed a penchant for knitwear. There is nothing I like better than to recline in a comfy chair in my knitted body-stocking with hood, and sit in silence with my new pal, The Snoog.
The Snoog has a towling body and a sullen underslung fish mouth, fringed by a blonde roof of hair. We flick through Sixties pattern books together and I occasionally punch him in the gob - a random act of violence which, as The Snoog himself declares, is 'an act of irrationalist randomness sure to crack the edifice of petit bourgeois complacency' (not so random actually - it's comments like this that tend to prompt my rather unbecoming outbursts of physical rage).
Anyway, gotta go now as I'm absolutely kippered, and I've got to be up early for a delivery of angry dolly limbs which Aunty Gary has asked me to collect on his behalf.
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