Colophonic irritation
My mother gave me a bag of sugar so I could take it back to the factory and complain, because it was full of strange lumps. Thus my companion and I steamed up to the works at Kidderminster and wandered about in search of the complaints department.
As everyone knows, the factory at Kidderminster is already more or less disused, so we wandered through many deserted brick spaces where there were only cobwebs and the odd pile of galvanised pipework.
We were accompanied on our travels by the sort of mysterious factory noises more likely to be encountered in a Krell spaceship works.
Eventually, we found the complaints department. It was a strangely brown seventies room bolted on the side of an otherwise blameless Victorian factory building. Together with the complaints-bloke, we inspected the faulty sugar. It was filled with small Christmas ornaments; baubles, sprayed pinecones and even a miniature train-set.
Complaints-bloke agreed that this was indeed faulty sugar, and a new bag would be despatched forthwith.
Cheered by this result, we made to drive off, only to discover that some bugger had plasma-ed up the Saab so it fell to bits like a clown-car after moving some ten yards.
I was somewhat less than pleased by this turn of events. Actually, I was in a murderous rage. Some more investigation revealed a fizz-haired bollix loading a plasma cutter into the back of a Transit. When asked, he allowed that yes he had cut up my car for 'a laugh' because he'd been at school with me. Since he refused to cough up the cash for a replacement, I set about the sod with a length of 2x4 that I'd pulled from a handy fence.
... And then I woke up.
As everyone knows, the factory at Kidderminster is already more or less disused, so we wandered through many deserted brick spaces where there were only cobwebs and the odd pile of galvanised pipework.
We were accompanied on our travels by the sort of mysterious factory noises more likely to be encountered in a Krell spaceship works.
Eventually, we found the complaints department. It was a strangely brown seventies room bolted on the side of an otherwise blameless Victorian factory building. Together with the complaints-bloke, we inspected the faulty sugar. It was filled with small Christmas ornaments; baubles, sprayed pinecones and even a miniature train-set.
Complaints-bloke agreed that this was indeed faulty sugar, and a new bag would be despatched forthwith.
Cheered by this result, we made to drive off, only to discover that some bugger had plasma-ed up the Saab so it fell to bits like a clown-car after moving some ten yards.
I was somewhat less than pleased by this turn of events. Actually, I was in a murderous rage. Some more investigation revealed a fizz-haired bollix loading a plasma cutter into the back of a Transit. When asked, he allowed that yes he had cut up my car for 'a laugh' because he'd been at school with me. Since he refused to cough up the cash for a replacement, I set about the sod with a length of 2x4 that I'd pulled from a handy fence.
... And then I woke up.