How I spent my Sunday, written entirely in RAF banter

What-ho, squiffies! Went low-bally with a cuppa till sausage-hour made grumblies, then tripped some slabs of white and yellow and rattled to the cage for a bit of waspy. Pranged at the how's-your-uncle for an egg or two, then feathered on to the blighter's jerry-scratch for a turn (not so Sir Neville, this one), which ate my tea and left the ape and elephant sitting dickied until tomorrow's crack. Something kited eh, what-what? Dropped the cabbages in the bin and flipped over on my Olivers back down to the battleship for the gravy. Not Betty Grable, but kind of argyle, what?