Last nite, I found myself studying the notice board in my local chipper while waiting for my artery clogging fare to fry. As I casually scanned the advertisements for piano tuners, plumbers and mechanics jostling for space on the crowded cork board, my attention was drawn to an unprepossessing business card. Hand-written upon it was the following message: ‘Do you find your ironing load stressful? Well let me ease that load. Give Elaine a phone. £15-20 per load.’ I was immediately tempted to wap out the moby there and then and ask Elaine if she would ease my load, but decided against it. Nice as it would be to have someone else do all the hard work, it seemed somewhat profligate given that there were girls by the harbour who would perform the same job for a tenner. In fairness to Elaine though, she lived within cumming distance of my village abode, whereas the harbour hoors wouldn’t risk venturing this far out of their pimps’ sight for any less than a teinth of white and broon. At £20 a load, perhaps Elaine wasn’t such bad value for money after all. But before I could pick up the fone and ask for my load to be lightened, another notice caught my eye. This one had been posted up by the local Girl Guides and listed details of the meetings held by their various groups. These all sounded wholly unremarkable. All of them, that is, except for this one: ‘Beavers. Age 6-8 years. Wednesday 6.-7.15 at the primary school.’ With underage beavers and load lightening mums competing for my hard cash and cock, I was truly spoilt for choice. In the end however, I wimped out and spent my wad on hard chips instead. Empty balls would have been nice, but as my empty wallet and girlfriend concurred, a full stomach was even nicer.