Twas the year of our lord 1639, as it had been for four years before that, it seemed the century was in denial it had ever hit 40, In the quiet streets and noisy nightclubs of the small Sussex hamlet that became West Chiltington (It was in a more Easterly direction at the time) a sinister plot was unfolding like a ill-constructed origami swan. The Streets were deserted, save the ever-present presence of the Slothmaster Persuivant and his ASDA Sausage roll. (As you all know from history 1639+4 was the year of the Great Ginsters Strike).
As he looked from left to right, from north to south, from Lazzards to Snizkapadiens he could see not a soul on the streets. For it was dark and he was wearing sunglasses!
Beyond the Grand entrance to Ye Olde Queens none could be seen, and as the White Everest van sped through the deepest of puddles, there was not a soul to splashed!
The Slothmaster Stands and decrees aloud "Well bugger this then!" as he trundles down east street towards his next desirable destination of destiny.
In a small Cellar beneath the Newsagents, a crowd had gathered, they were away from the prying eyes of all who could see, however all who might have seen where in the room too, so it almost defied the point.
Why they had gathered in this place, they were to suprise the only man who was not yet hidden, to mark the anniversary of his birth.
The only noise, an constant rhythmic metronome as Ted and Justine played table tennis with two Wagon Wheels and a Cadburys Crème Egg
All around the sinister & devious eyes looked shiftily at one another, nobody trusting the others not to steal their private stash of Terry's Chocolate Oranges
As the air in the room drew less, they pondered on their friends non-arrival, and the fact that door had shut, and could only be opened from the outside
Dismayed by the absence of all, the Slothmaster faded away into the night. 40 years had passed by the time he next ambled into West Chiltington to discover in his horror, everybody had lost their hair!
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