Dominance, I think. It’s a sort of horse protection racket. They work their way around all the houses collecting carrots and sugar cubes. If you don’t pay up you’ll find a horse’s head in your bed, which will be attached to a horse, who will be holding a gun. The horse will shoot you.
I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve accidentally wandered somewhere south of Leeds and struggled to identify what vegetables someone is trying to feed me.
See? It’s not dumplings slathered in onion gravy so you have no idea what I’m talking about. Come back and try again when you’ve been fitted for a top hat by the finest milliner in Savile Row.
Free range horses roving around in gangs, collecting protection money!? Back in my day a horse was subservient and obedient. What’s the world coming to?
I used to wonder when the police were going to come and lock them up, but then I saw a policeman sitting on a police horse – a horse who was part of the police, if you can believe such a thing – and now I know the truth. They’re all in it together. The police won’t save you from this racket. It’s every man for himself.
11 comments on “More horse peril”
Do they hang about until someone slips them a tenner or are they doing it to assert their dominance over the town?
Dominance, I think. It’s a sort of horse protection racket. They work their way around all the houses collecting carrots and sugar cubes. If you don’t pay up you’ll find a horse’s head in your bed, which will be attached to a horse, who will be holding a gun. The horse will shoot you.
This graphic depiction of what could happen to me is another reason why I’ll never move to the country and/or the South of England / France.
It’s all the same. Neither the language nor the vegetables down here would be comprehensible to someone from Newcastle.
I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve accidentally wandered somewhere south of Leeds and struggled to identify what vegetables someone is trying to feed me.
We have three kinds of broccoli and something called “celeriac”. Don’t get involved, is my advice.
Cellardyke who? I thought you were a celeriac when you reached a certain age, like a younger geriatric.
See? It’s not dumplings slathered in onion gravy so you have no idea what I’m talking about. Come back and try again when you’ve been fitted for a top hat by the finest milliner in Savile Row.
I… er… you’ve got me there.
I don’t even own a top hat. Should I?
Free range horses roving around in gangs, collecting protection money!? Back in my day a horse was subservient and obedient. What’s the world coming to?
I used to wonder when the police were going to come and lock them up, but then I saw a policeman sitting on a police horse – a horse who was part of the police, if you can believe such a thing – and now I know the truth. They’re all in it together. The police won’t save you from this racket. It’s every man for himself.