Paramount within a Paramount

Dear readers, I apologise for the lateness of this report but laziness and a state of general apathy were preventing me Peanut from completing my correspondent duties for the Paramount group. However, I managed to break free of the sticky and terrible tendrils of lassitude to put together this rather unremarkable entry.

Well I remember officer that I got there first on the day in question. As usual, I sat at my table and wondered if anyone was going to turn up. Sure nuff, no sooner had I cogitated on this gloomy possibility when Jelly emerged from behind a plastic palm tree shouting, “Surprise to you Peanut.” I turned around to face him with a stupid grin on my face and have a piece of curried beef hanging out of my chops. You see, I had visited once again the kitchens of Chef Lanka to get my lunch for that day. As Chef Lanka once said with great wisdom, “Eat all you can at the Lanka you fat c**ts.” So as I worked my way through my meal with Jelly sitting opposite, good ol’ Butter turned up with his ear glued to his mobile phone on important business matters. I can’t remember if Mayo turned up. It was so long ago and the details remain increasingly vague and unretrievable to me. It has now become but I dream within a dream. Like a Paramount within a Paramount. Sort of like that movie Inception but I don’t get to play the main Leonardo di Caprio role. Sorry I can’t shed any more light on the incident officer. I have no idea what happened after that knock to the head on the stairs or how I ended up wrapped in a cigarillo in that well-known hangout for fancy men. Just to note that a supporter of the UK Independence Party at Ramsgate opined how he looked around his town and didn’t know where he was anymore with all those dark and swarthy faces at the supermarket and the constant jibber jabber of foreign tongues. It’s not the England that his mother and her mother before her fought and died for I tell you that. Over and out for now. Mr Peanut.