Mr Jolly lives next door to a comprehensive range of premium cosmetics.
All the survivors of the secret department store wars of the 80s seem to be from House Fraser. I imagine that's actually a nom du guerre and their ancestral homeworld is Giedi Prime. You could tell that something odd was going on if you bothered to pay attention to the layout of the buildings, because nothing quite lined up the way you thought it should. You'd be looping up a central stairwell away from gentlemen's unmentionables and in search of mechanical Christmas decorations that played tunes on a tree filled with tiny anvils, when a right turn would end in a blank wall where a staircase should have been.
I never did find the mechanical decorations again. It was the eighties, so the level of compute and miniaturisation would have been impossible. It was obviously a mistake to leave it somewhere an Earth-native human could find it.
Mind, whenever I do go into Jolly's of Bath, I am disappointed not to be met by Peter Cook with apron and meat-cleaver and telling me to 'Fuck off out of it. Go on. Fuck off.'
That wasn't really what I was going to write about. Perhaps that post needs some more time to mature.
I never did find the mechanical decorations again. It was the eighties, so the level of compute and miniaturisation would have been impossible. It was obviously a mistake to leave it somewhere an Earth-native human could find it.
Mind, whenever I do go into Jolly's of Bath, I am disappointed not to be met by Peter Cook with apron and meat-cleaver and telling me to 'Fuck off out of it. Go on. Fuck off.'
That wasn't really what I was going to write about. Perhaps that post needs some more time to mature.