From today I’m adding a new segment to my blog. I’m calling it “Classic Wallace”. Calamitous things happen to my mate Joe Wallace when he’s abroad; he’s been surrounded by wild dogs while taking a bush poo, he’s had his passport stolen in Africa, he’s been fleeced by gypsies in Berlin and detained at the Botswana airport for three hours for quite correctly calling an overly officious airport bureaucrat a “bastard”. You can read all about that last incident in Joe’s excellent blog, The Roast Dinner Letters.
Anyway, last night, while playing a bit of barefoot beach volleyball in the largest sand pit in a town full of cats, Joe stepped in something sticky. Classic Wallace.
Anyway, last night, while playing a bit of barefoot beach volleyball in the largest sand pit in a town full of cats, Joe stepped in something sticky. Classic Wallace.
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