Suzy? Babe? [Puts on a bad Welsh accent.] Oh, hello. Oh, hello Frank. No, no, it's Geoff. Yeah. No, I'm an old school friend of Suzy's. I know she did, but I moved down when I was twelve. From... [Changes accent.] ...Derbyshire. Oh, do they? Which part? Which part? Which bit? Oh, I know I don’t, but because I’ve got a bit of a cold at the moment and I'm a bit sad... about... well, about my... hedgerows. Yeah. I've got to go now. I’ve got to go to the Vale. The Vale of Pewter. Near... Derby. OK, OK, bye. [Hangs up.] Think I got away with that.
"There was a time I had not seen you, I don't know how I coped. Now every day I want to watch you and help you with your [pronounced phonetically] moped." "Help you with your moped?" What's that?
Er, well, it's for a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. Is that going to cause problems in your weird little technical brain?
TTechnician
No, it's just that usually we've got to go up on the roof and shout, "Pregnancy test results for the stupid lanky old bitch who's not learned to take basic precautions in her forty-odd years on this planet!" You know, assuming that your friend is quite lanky.
Precisely. Gamma rays, which produce images of—I'm having a baby—and can be expressed in numerical form. Tiny, pink, little baby. Moving on to diagnostic preferences in, let's say soft-tissue trauma... Who's the daddy? I think you'll find that I am the daddy.
