It rained like Chac had blown a divine gasket in that stormy night in 1954. My old accomplice and wartime cohort Alan Turing of Enigma cracking fame had sadly passed away into that cryptograph in the sky. God would have some work to figure that complex puzzle out.
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I had taken Lady Margaret to the cinema to watch a film called On The Waterfront (Some dancing and a lot of hoo haa-ing. It wasn't really my thing, of course, but the Lady was enamoured of that Sinatra fellow) and was on our way back, Broderick senior (may he forever rest in most gracious peace) treating the Bentley like the beast she is.
She sat beside me, the rain and our hot bodies misting up the compartment window. It was a feeling such as Romeo must have felt upon alighting for that first time with Juliet as the Lady moved over me and kissed me just to the left of my proud moustache. I was all a-flutter as one tends to be in strange situations.
An alien thought suddenly occurred to me. I took hold of Lady Margaret and for one heart-stopping moment smashed my head into her nose, thus breaking the beautiful appendage.
Broderick had crashed the Bentley. The cost of that piece of irrefutable timing was a small dent in the mighty front carapace of the car and a year in Brittany for the Lady. We never spoke again.
Broderick has just run me my bath and is preparing the ungents. I must away leaving you with this one momentary thought.
Let not your pride come before your fall. Get it in there first.