I use a giant green welly boot that was once used in an advertising campaign as my main mode of transport..
I have tricked an Aldabra giant tortoise into thinking that the welly is his shell, and over a period of years I have also cultivated a rampant alcoholism in the beast, thus with the power of a can of Tennants Super dangled from the end of a fishing rod, I can ride around in the welly and steer the beast..
I am fed up to the back teeth of folk on these ponderous ‘fatbikes’ putting the heeby jeebies up my welly with their cavorting in the dunes..
Only just last week, I had seduced a fair Lady of the night to take a ride with me across the sandy heaven of Lothian’s fair shore, where we were deeply embroiled in the depths of a Lawrence of Arabia fantasy, when suddenly we were startled from our revelry by one of these lycra louts..
It took me nigh on three hours to bring the welly back under control, by which time my maiden had completely lost interest in helping ‘rescue me from the desert’
enough is enough I say..
Down with this sort of thing