I had a medical exam for my new job as a trainee air traffic controller. I passed all the little exams and interviews they gave me. This is because I'm both intelligent and personable. Maybe. Probably not. Definately not. I had to travel to Southampton. The train took me across Englands green and pleasant hills.
I felt like singing Jerusalem, but I didn't. Instead I read Private Eye magazine. Haha Tony Blair will fill his boots, its funny because he will cash in on the lucrative after dinner speech circuit in America, thats the joke.
After reading my magazine, I spotted this on the floor. Someone had a free ticket to an award ceremony. Why can't I have one? Was it a spy award ceremony? If so then I'm greatly annoyed my years of service have been overlooked.
I passed Royal Leamington Spa, the beautiful buildings were eclipsed by the scrawling of 'BJ' on a wall.
The journey went on, time passed, I grew older, my bones were weary, at Southampton Airport, I saw Father Christmas. He must have been flying to Lapland after an extended break on the English South coast. I couldn't help but think he looked slightly disillusioned with life out of his work clothes.
Lunch time, cheese and bacon baguette with a bottle of oasis. A meal fit for a king, or at least a traveler. Apparently my baguette is French. Did you know the French for bacon is bacon. This is so English hooligans don't get mixed up when they order their English breakfasts.
I finished my food and waited for my train. An interesting fact about me - I often heed security notices.
I got on the train to the place where my medical was to be conducted, Swanwick. Here is the face of a spy. Remember it well, if you want to foil my plans.
This was my view out of the window, it was set against a soundtrack of German Eurodance purveyors Cascada. The journey was emotional.
I am a landlubber and rarely see the sea. This is a river.
After the bleak but beautiful scenery it was time to get off. I checked my bag. This bag is the most maligned item in my existence. Kim hates it and has offered to buy me a new one. I turn her down. I like it.
Swanwick station.
I got to the medical facility and was quickly told to put my phone away by a burly security guard, here is a glimpse.
There were complications. Amongst the others my left ear stopped working. This is the offending article.
This was the cuisine on offer in Swanwick. (Not the bike, I don't eat bikes)
I wasn't impressed with my ear. It let me down, as did the burger van.
I indulged my hunger by buying Kim some Monster much as a present. They are her favourite.
I got the train to Reading where I spotted this chameleMAN. Trying to blend in to his surroundings in escalator coloured trousers. Cant spy a spyer.
I met Kim and we went to the pub.
You know you are in the South when you see this.
What is this. Blackadder!?
I needed to get going back to Manchester, my homeland, in the morning. Not before a dose of Shipwrecked. They lead the life of Riley. If Riley was a woman in a bikini.
On the train back I treated myself to a can of Blackthorn. I deserved it. This is NOT my urine sample. It is refreshing cider.
Will our protagonist pass the Gatwick medical? Will he buy a new bag? Will his left ear resume normal service. All will be told soon.
I had a medical exam for my new job as a trainee air traffic controller. I passed all the little exams and interviews they gave me. This is because I'm both intelligent and personable. Maybe. Probably not. Definately not. I had to travel to Southampton. The train took me across Englands green and pleasant hills.
I felt like singing Jerusalem, but I didn't. Instead I read Private Eye magazine. Haha Tony Blair will fill his boots, its funny because he will cash in on the lucrative after dinner speech circuit in America, thats the joke.
After reading my magazine, I spotted this on the floor. Someone had a free ticket to an award ceremony. Why can't I have one? Was it a spy award ceremony? If so then I'm greatly annoyed my years of service have been overlooked.
I passed Royal Leamington Spa, the beautiful buildings were eclipsed by the scrawling of 'BJ' on a wall.
The journey went on, time passed, I grew older, my bones were weary, at Southampton Airport, I saw Father Christmas. He must have been flying to Lapland after an extended break on the English South coast. I couldn't help but think he looked slightly disillusioned with life out of his work clothes.
Lunch time, cheese and bacon baguette with a bottle of oasis. A meal fit for a king, or at least a traveler. Apparently my baguette is French. Did you know the French for bacon is bacon. This is so English hooligans don't get mixed up when they order their English breakfasts.
I finished my food and waited for my train. An interesting fact about me - I often heed security notices.
I got on the train to the place where my medical was to be conducted, Swanwick. Here is the face of a spy. Remember it well, if you want to foil my plans.
This was my view out of the window, it was set against a soundtrack of German Eurodance purveyors Cascada. The journey was emotional.
I am a landlubber and rarely see the sea. This is a river.
After the bleak but beautiful scenery it was time to get off. I checked my bag. This bag is the most maligned item in my existence. Kim hates it and has offered to buy me a new one. I turn her down. I like it.
Swanwick station.
I got to the medical facility and was quickly told to put my phone away by a burly security guard, here is a glimpse.
There were complications. Amongst the others my left ear stopped working. This is the offending article.
This was the cuisine on offer in Swanwick. (Not the bike, I don't eat bikes)
I wasn't impressed with my ear. It let me down, as did the burger van.
I indulged my hunger by buying Kim some Monster much as a present. They are her favourite.
I got the train to Reading where I spotted this chameleMAN. Trying to blend in to his surroundings in escalator coloured trousers. Cant spy a spyer.
I met Kim and we went to the pub.
You know you are in the South when you see this.
What is this. Blackadder!?
I needed to get going back to Manchester, my homeland, in the morning. Not before a dose of Shipwrecked. They lead the life of Riley. If Riley was a woman in a bikini.
On the train back I treated myself to a can of Blackthorn. I deserved it. This is NOT my urine sample. It is refreshing cider.
Will our protagonist pass the Gatwick medical? Will he buy a new bag? Will his left ear resume normal service. All will be told soon.
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