I like it so far, you have always done such spiffing work sir, so much space to run around in, and so much to do. ^w^ A change of scenery will be nice.



And now if I may, a ditty.



"'Twas the night (or month, or two) before Christmas.

Nothing in London stirred.

Except Mr Foster bringing down a Pulverizor on a Crawler's head.



It was beautiful and white.

With splashes of red. And more red.



It was so quiet, so peaceful.

Then Mr.Foster screamed.



Expletives too terrible to repeat.

Not helped by the sleet.



He kicked them in the head.

Really hard.



He took from each of them, a dosh card.

And left them broken instead.



To the trader he slammed down his dosh.

How he paid, nobody gave a tosh.



Soon he was rich, again.

That was rather plain."