Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Mrs Terence McCann

Sonya McCann sighed as she placed her suitcase down on the scuffed limo - damp, dreary old London beckoned. She'd returned to the country of her birth with her late husband Terry's ashes in a decorative urn; it was his dearest wish to be buried outside The Winchester Club, but obviously flying the bloated twenty-two stone former boxer's corpse half way across the world wasn't really an option.

Poor Terry had died of advanced knob rot, brought about by excessive amounts of unprotected sex he'd indulged in between 1979 and 1988. In fact, his John Thomas had been amputated in 2011 and a hosepipe fitted instead ...

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