This is one of those cases where the picture was necessary for the story to make any sense. The story and picture originally appeared here. What can you add?
"Bleeding hell, I do hope that Father doesn't expect us to stuff our arses into this thing to go to the North Plodqiddle Social," Master Jerry, the middle brother of the Wallingford clan muttered through his teeth.
"I think it might be right good fun, rather," said Master Garry, the youngest of the trio.
"Shut the bleeding hell up so they can take the picture," Master Nicholas, the eldest brother snarled menacingly through his perfect smile. "And then I'll have a chat with Father and see if he has truly lost his marbles. I simply can't see having the three of us stuffed into the back seat and Father riding up front with Xerxes when we've a perfectly good limo that will hold all of us comfortably."
"All in, Lads," said their father Sir Barry cheerfully. "'T'will be a bonny drive in the countryside this fine summer afternoon. Chop chop now!"
"Bleeding hell, he has lost his marbles," Jerry moaned.
"Nah, I think he's just been nipping at the rum Cook was using to flavor his birthday cake." Garry remarked. "Oh, come, lads, it will be fun, you'll see!"
"Bally chip off the old block," Nicholas groaned, thinking that in another month he could return to Oxford and concentrate on his forthcoming career as a dedicated purveyor of fashion.
More writing, but less silliness. Purchase my novel, Lost Beneath The Surface. 50% of proceeds donated to the World Health Organization's mental health division.
