[Reporting Team's note: Due to the conversation taking a while to get to the point, or at least a point where it vaguely related to St. Ives, it has been promulgated on the e-mails list as of last, rather than first, going to press.
Hence the chronically confusing chronology!
To spare you having to read it backwards we have re-hashed it so that the oldest bits now appear at the top of the page instead of the usual way round].
Tuesday, May 14, 2002 9:32 AM
Tuesday, May 14, 2002 4:03 PM
Yes. Well, that all seems perfectly normal to me. It's just as I remember it.
But enough of other people's sites, when are you going to get Naughty Norfolk on the web?
Friday, May 17, 2002 3:57 PM
Excuse the tardy reply, but I've been away recently to the land of my fathers and the home of the deep fried Mars Bar .
Never been to Sheppey meself, but looked at it once from somewhere in the Oare marshes which was strange enough in itself; some of the people we met seemed to have altogether too many fingers and toes. ( Yes, they were all wearing flipflops.)
Now look, we've been through this before; I couldn't even get the wrapper of a copy of Front Page, let alone do a website with it, and anyway I'm far too lazy - it's much easier just sending inane emails, disjointed ramblings and feeble jokes to other peoples' websites.
And I haven't got a reporting team - attempts to recruit one were abandoned when the cat told me to **** off, he'd got better things to do, thank you, and where the hell did I think his tea was?
And who are we to follow in the footsteps etc of the master?
Friday, May 24, 2002 7:56 PM
Not dead ..... I just smell like I am.
Trevor has (I trust) arrived in Greece for a well-deserved holiday and I am just about to collapse into my deathbed following an equally well-merited day at the Beer Festival.
I'm sorry but I just can't accept your feeble arguments for not launching Naughty Norfolk. What do you mean you can't find a Reporting Team? A man who will not be befriended by cuddly toys is no man at all!
PS. Given the tense relationship with your fleabag I don't suppose you have any handy cat-disposal recipes to hand, would you?
27 May 2002 11:22
I suppose you could grab the offending mog, dress it up in toddler/baby clothes, strap it into a buggy, stuff a bag of chips into its paws, wheel it down to Smeaton's Pier and leave it there. Shouldn't take the gulls more than about thirty seconds. You, meanwhile, from your carefully chosen place of concealment, can take aim with your trusty old M16 and terminate several dozen of them with extreme prejudice at the same time.
Always gone for the simple approach, myself.
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