ADVENTURES OF A SHEEP CALLED LEN AND A PUMA CALLED BURT
Knock knock! That was the sound of Len knocking on the door of room 517, the penthouse suite. “Entree!” Came the high-pitched voice of, who Len could only presume, was Madame Rosalita the cow. The richest cow in all of East Finchley. She was so famous she even came up in Google searches. They used […]
Madame Rosalita’s Boudoir Read More »
It was about 10 past 10 (give or take 10 minutes) when Len and Burt casually walked into to the East Finchley Hilton, both dressed in overalls. Walking up the receptionist, who was a timid looking antelope in a blue uniform and glasses. “We’re here to check the hotel fire alarms..” Len said, flashing his
Mr Sebastian-Munchy is not available Read More »
Back and Len and Bert’s house at number 23 Cherry Bakewell Avenue, Len was sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Bert was putting the kettle on. The newspaper said that Madame Rosalita (the cow) was staying at the East Finchley Hilton the night before the auction. A devious plan was forming in Len’s
Len and Bert stood outside the bookmakers counting their change. “How much do you have?” Len asked. “60p” Bert replied. “How much do you have on your bank card?” “30p”. Len scratched his fleece. “So….that means we only need £4999 and 10p by tomorrow morning to pay off Jimmy the Gopher.” They sat on the
Seems you owe me a bit of money, Len my friend” Jimmy the Gopher said sinisterly, chewing a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth, in the way that gophers often do. “Yes, about that… Funny story..” “You better have a good excuse. You wouldn’t like me to give you some…. Orrible torment would
In the Bookies with Phil the Whippet Read More »
f you’ve ever had chance to chat to a sheep – then they’ve likely told you about the problems they’ve endured trying to fill out betting slips. It’s the hooves , you see. They will explain, “Those little pens they have down the bookies just aren’t made with hooves in mind. Something should be done
As the old lady put the kettle on, Len made himself comfortable at the kitchen table. “What a lovely kitchen you have Mrs..?” “Appletree. Cynthia Appletree.” “Yes it has a lovely view of the back garden, too.” “How many sugars would you like, Mr..” “Len. Call me, Len. I’ll take two sugars please. Say –
Len the sheep, aged 39, took his clipboard out of the van, fastened his clip-on tie onto a scruff of wool on his neck and abled up the pathway to number 3 Cobbletree lane. “Ding ding!” Went the doorbell, in the way doorbells often do. “Winning mentality… Winning mentality..” Len said softly to himself as