The AGM of the
allotment committee was a dull affair.
It was full
of elderly people who looked like they could draw their last breath at any
second.
“Any other
business?” the chairman of the committee asked.
“Yes!”
yelled the Winston Churchill-alike on the back row.
There was a
collective gasp. Nobody ever had any other business. What the hell was going
on?
“The rabbit
problem.”
“Yes?” asked
the chairman.
“What are
you going to do about it?”
“I’m sorry,”
interrupted a man who resembled Terry Nutkins, “but what does that have to do
with the committee?”
“It has
everything to do with the committee!”
Churchill
rose to his feet and headed towards Nutkins, knocking chairs and people out of
the way as he went.
He picked
Nutkins up, a feat of strength which surprised everybody in the room. He carried
the man above his head and slammed him through the table at the front of the
room.
“Just a
minute,” said the chairman. “You’re responsible for the rabbit problem if it’s on
your plot.”
Churchill
picked up a chair and smacked the chairman in the face with it.
He left the
room, leaving Nutkins and the chairman unconscious.
The
secretary looked perplexed. “How do I record this in the minutes?” she asked.
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