'Ye who enter, shut it' - so read the unwritten sign on the entrance to the evaporation room.
It was known to all, that this room was for breathing and sweating. Yes, occasional bouts of machoistic conversations were allowed, even encouraged, a rhetorical results query such as 'watch the match today?' was sometimes quietly applauded. But no, no, no - to rampantly chatter or sing was heresy.
It was recounted once of a Chilean immigrant who had entered whistling an old caustic refrain; they had strung him to the evaporator so that he could 'sing now'.
Another Saudi had decided to chant to Allah- blessed be he mid-morning; he never mounted a camel again.
Another Saudi had decided to chant to Allah- blessed be he mid-morning; he never mounted a camel again.
Thus, in keeping with the law of the non escaping goat, it was inevitable for another to be strung.
And so it was on the 5th day of the week, as Samuel H Rousta entered the maze of water, it dawned upon him a tune and what a tune! ‘Three blind mice’, ooh he must 'av earrd it laast in kiingston'.
And so it was on the 5th day of the week, as Samuel H Rousta entered the maze of water, it dawned upon him a tune and what a tune! ‘Three blind mice’, ooh he must 'av earrd it laast in kiingston'.
Throatily he cleared his pipe hole, and readied himself for his performance.
James T Hogby, had had a particularly doursome day.
James T Hogby, had had a particularly doursome day.
Middle management had given him a real gooly twisting about the state of the centre. As he traipsed past the lockers near the steam room, he tripped, fell and heard the song three blind mice, as sung by his abusive stepdad whilst on the whipper.
This version was also in no particular key and emanated in a trebly wheezing voice.
Enough, said James, Enough he even screamed, and crawled over to the non-assuming Caribbean gentleman. 'Ouuuuut' he shrieked, as Samuel cowered from the white settler.
Once more in exile, once more 'byy dee riivers of..'
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