Well here we are. Many of you are unawares of the meaning behind the St. John's Voodoo holiday coming up Sunday, June 24.
It's a harmless holiday really, a lot of chasing and shagging while waving potables not fit for either end, actually.
But it is a voodoo holiday and for those of us in Her Majesty's Service who have given their word never to submit to Napoleonic Law, a frank word to the wise should suffice to every upright British citizen to stay the hell away from Louisiana in general, and New Orleans in particular.
Please notice the browser links located conveniently a way from the text around you. They're usually trolling for paperback writers and such, no harm nor foul there, but if you do notice these trolls changing to travel adverts offering a free - expenses paid pass to the Superdome pool. Kindly disregard.
Exchange rates are getting weird, and believe it or not, the Sailfish are picketing all up and down the Gulf Coast.
I have had a little bit of a run in with a fake cowboy who was a horse, actually. The Loa, or spirit, riding the fake cowboy was going through the shakes because The Electric Pineapple were sheduled to be the Creole surprise at the Sunday morning brunch a place called Zombies, believe it or not, Ripley.
There aren't too many legitimate cowboys in Amarillo, Texas, trying to smuggle around a silent X in their last name while driving a chartreuse Pugeot with Louisiana plates sporting a set of hood mounted Longhorns.
But as soon as he started talking about Arsenal I knew I had him. No frog can say things about Arsenal like that and live, not in my book.
I didn't know that he owed the band that much money and they didn't know that they were this Sundays menu.
In this business you call that a wash and you walk away.
That's why they call "military intelligence" an oxymoron.
If I had known - I would've grabbed his watch.
The band was a little bit miffed,actually, who can blame them? but M killed the story faster than I could shoot the cowboy between the eyes, thank God. Good old Mark, -er "M", I mean.
Since the Aston Martin was sold off to protect the franchise. I have been riding around in a dead man's stupid puke green Pugeot.
Until the ministry can afford something a little better, it is all we have.
In normal times, this would be a perfectly acceptable tourist destination for anyone, even the Germans, well, especially the Germans.
They walk around America like they conquered the place. HMMM . . ..