The bloody Memsahib's been inviting those ruddy proles round for tea again.
I can't stand having all that sweat and phlegm in one place.
That ruddy one eyed Scottish Johnny has snaffled all the bourbons again, and Boris sodding Johnson keeps leaning his bike against the acer palmatum, prick!
I just can't understand the logic of not being allowed to shoot the poor. It would mean more bickies for me, and less bark buggering for the acers.
Hang on, I can't find the gin.