The old man with the circle on his jumper threw his papers up in the air leaving the floor strewn with images of sheep in various states of undress. I picked up one picture of a well shaven ewe from Caerphilly and handed it back to him suggesting that she had been well fleeced. “A bit like shareholders in Sefton” piped up the Dormouse. The old man looked pained again.
“Infamy, infamy, they’ve all got it in for me” he uttered. “I used to be a top oil analyst in the City and now I have to spend my days being a non exec for shit little AIM companies, some of whom cannot even afford to pay me.”
“Here, have a piece of cake” said the dormouse
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