Suddenly, the lights went out. I was somewhat perturbed, for it was rather a bad time for them to do that, as it was in darkest mid-December and I hadn’t yet finished dragging the object wrapped in plastic down to the cellar where it was going to be immersed in some freshly-poured cement. I knew it was a bad idea to write a letter to my electricity suppliers telling them that I thought my bill was too high and they could shove it up their fat bottoms wide end first if they thought I was paying. Still, I had had the foresight to buy some candles, but the luminance thereof is not as great as that of the invention of Messrs Swan and Edison, and though I did manage to get the object wrapped in plastic adequately hidden to a depth where the local Gendarmerie wouldn’t easily find it, I did in the process immerse my own left leg, completely ruining my Italian shoes and a very costly pair of trousers from a skilled tailor in London. I suppose the moral of this story would be don’t mess with the electricity company, and pay the charge of the light brigade.
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