I was a banjo player from the age of seven, but got tired of all the
derisive jokes, so took up the button box.

Don't welcome Martin excessively, as he's been here for quite
a spell. Which doesn't make him any the less welcome, as he's
kind of got the bloody infernal damned thing figured out.

Mind you, he's no Tony Hall, but Tony's no Martin Ellison,
either. 'Flowers of bloody Edinburgh,' indeed. That's just
a stunt, that is, clickty-clacks and all.

One of these days, before we all die (or are killed), we'll
have to figure out a way to all be met together.

Prior to our tenure in hell, of course. Torturing Leonard
Bloody Bernstein. I propose Maine in May. Just as miserable
as all our climates put together.

Sorry, have to go off and have a Bm, and have me t'urds removed.