It was Saturday morning at TheSpoof.com Towers, an ex stately home in Coventry.
It was a morning much like any other. The sun peaked over the gas works. The milkman didn't trundle by, as they don't do that anymore because it's cheaper to get a four pinter from the supermarket, a reporter digressed and TheSpoof.com offices had just been cleaned by Consuela, the maid, who pops in to take care of a few "odds and ends" around the place.
Consuela made her way across the bailey and the lowered drawbridge to where the wheelie bins are kept in one of them nice little trellis wind breaks with climbing flowers growing up it, put around the bins in an attempt to hide them from view, so instead you have just an incongruous looking mini outbuilding lean too type effort.
As she opened the lid of the wheelie bin, she discovered that there was no room to place the sack of half eaten lobster shells and empty Bolly bottles due to it being filled to overflowing with what appeared to be cat jokes and feline related humorous materials.
Your humble, but dogged, reporter took it upon himself to request an audience with the dark Prince of TheSpoofdem to discover what caused such a casual waste of such fine comedic scribblings.
The answer, 'too many bloody cat and wheelie bin jokes', vented the spleen of the Lord of TheSpoof manor. 'I mean, it was funny at first, and then it got funnier and to be honest, it still is funny, so I asked Consuela to wheel them back up to my chambers. There is still plenty of mileage in the story. In fact I have a couple of favourites coming up in the next few days.'
Everyone from Jesus to The Beetles will either be found in wheelie bins or found stuffing all manner of objects and animals into them, The Stig may even make an appearance out of a wheelie bin, who knows? Anything can happen at TheSpoof Towers.