Originally Posted by
Seekingasylum
Tax’s Diary entry 15 April 1987:
” I can’t believe it, the high point of my career! I had an emergency appointment referred to me t’other day, a tricky premolar that had impacted but I’m at the top of my game these days. I assumed he would be simply another fee paying decent white chap who knew which end to bowl from and who thought Yorkshire should be designated a patriarchy and independent of poofy England - my sort of pal in fact and mainstay of our masonic lodge. Well blow me! Guess who arrived! I nearly came in my Y-fronts! eebaagumm ( which is Mugabe backwards …har, har ) it was none other than my fookin’ idol Geoffrey fookin’ Boycott.
“Ehsoopthabastard, you’re naw goin ta hurt me is tha, cuz if tha does it’ll be last fookin’ time you’ll gissyoursel a tug fir a fookin’ month, you poncing twat.”
God that man has a silver tongue. I got Gladys to hold his hand the whole time he was in the chair but it got a bit tricky when he kept getting her to stroke his old chap, the dirty dog. I squared her away with some extra diazapam she sells to her mates down the working men’s club. Still, it was a red letter day for me, alright. And he’s got a fookin’ brilliant uvula. I don’t know why but they arouse me all the time and his really got me going. Had the best Jodrell for yonks thinking on it.
Aye, it doesn’t get much better when you can poke about in the gobs of kings. Haven’t felt so chuffed since I stiffed the NH fookin’ S for a grand last year treating that bunch of Pakis. Ah fook it, it’s a grand life if you don’t weaken.”
Har, har.