THAT'S A CRANK CALL.

HE PANICS AND GOES INTO THE HOUSE. SO I GET
THE 3OMM CANNON AND TAKE OUT THE FISH POND.

THIS IS T'PAU.

GRAVEYARDS ARE SO DEPRESSING.

IT'S JUST CRUEL, ISN'T IT?

IT'S THE BANK HOLIDAY WEEKEND.
A TERRIBLE TIME FOR THE LONELY.

LYNN, ARE THOSE YOUR MOTHER'S CATARACT GLASSES?

BREAK IT DOWN, YES.
I'LL GET SOME GRAPEFRUIT JUICE. THAT'LL HELP.

- ARE WE HAVING THE FULL ENGLISH BREAKFAST?
- YES, CAN I HAVE MY SAUSAGES BURNT TO A CRISP,

HE LIVED THE AMERICAN DREAM.
BUILT A HUGE EMPIRE.

- CAN'T YOU JUST DIM IT A BIT?
- YEAH, OK.

SO...THANKS.

SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY.
ENCAPSULATES THE FRUSTRATION OF SUNDAY.

RIGHT.

AH, BONJOUR, MONSIEUR PARTRIDGE.
COMMENT ALLEZ-VOUS, MONSIEUR?

- CAN I COME WITH YOU?
- NO.

CAN YOU SMELL GAS?

THEN SONJA AND I TOOK OUR TOPS OFF AND
HAD A CUDDLE, FOLLOWED BY MINCE AND ONIONS.