(Dear IPOATthe Fourth, that a happy ending is altogether unlikely?

[Hullygully]

Or not?

(Little one still snot-ridden, but mostly perky with it, thanks!)

Eight.

Two.

Mayfair!

Ha Ha Ha Ha!

Three trillion! Numberwang squared!

Sixty-three and a half.

You have landed on Supertax.

That's numberwang!

Nope. That's not numberwang.

You are found drunk in charge. Go to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.

Wtf is 'numberwang'?

If it's something to do with kiddies' programmes, 'fraid I plead ignorance.

And if it's some thing to do with this, I plead even more ignorance!

Raise you Piccadilly.

Numberwang

I'll swap you the Waterworks for Leicester Square.

Numberwang. Mad, incomprehensible game from Mitchell and Webb.

No one knows the rules, as they have at least 17 volumes of tiny type.

Still not bloody Numberwang, Umami

.

That's numberwang.

Fine.

Plethora.

Mellifluous.

Sonorous.

Cassoulet.

(Noooo. Am shortly to bed. Save the Sheikh for tomorrow!)

Corruscate.

What freed women? They're all hooked up to the machine listening to Pink Floyd while their very maidenly essence is wrung from their virgin innards in pure streams of wealth-creating moisture.

Am being forced from the machine.

Bum.

Corpuscle.

Feel I've slipped into parallel universe - is it that Hadron Collider at work?

Hully - never mind Pink Floyd; aren't you talking the Eurythmics here?

(mournful)

Trusting to show, in wordes few,
That men have an ill use ?
To their own shame - women to blame,
And causeless them accuse.
Therefore to you I answer now,
All women to excuse ?

(rattles cage)

(sobs)

(looks askance at pamphlets and pile of tatting)