Bedraggled, bow-legged, and smeared with semen, Polly Toynbee staggers into the Guardian offices to sing a husky encomium of praise to the Cyclops King.
Every time that I read it, it makes me laugh.
Naturally, if only not to disappoint Peter, I shall have another go at her myself, but first I need cigarettes. Stay tuned, and read Mr E in the meantime...
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