My friend, Fionn, was being held hostage in, I don’t know, Unganga Nanga, and the Government was refusing to send in a team of marines to extract him. Pack of focking cauliflower worriers …
I wouldn’t have minded being bound and gagged in a basement – just for some peace and quiet. My wife was up the spout again. My daughter had grown into a mix between Suri Cruise and a Chucky doll. And one or two other chickens – well, birds – were coming home to roost.
Suddenly, I realized what I had to do – go and get Fionn back.
Except what I didn’t realize was that Unganga Nanga was no country for old tens.
