“…And when a man is tired of London, He .. .Is … Tired … of … Life. I thank you. That’s the end of the tour.”
The 2 women hovering on the pavement politely clapped, before heading off into the warm fug of the Duck and Horses.
Ben Johnson rested his top hat on the ‘only remaining traditional red pillar box from the 19th century’ and speedialled.
- That Al? Ben here. I couldn’t get you the tights. They’d only got pink
- …uksssake. Since when did Henry VIII wear pink?
- Exactly. Think the socks’ll do you for another week?
- Hardly matters. I only had 2 punters today. Forty quid! No doubt bout it, Gather No Moss are stealing the trade. Don’t matter if I dress up as Henry VIII , Moses, or Anne Bleedin Boleyn. We don’t stand a flapping chance against a Segway Tour.
- So you’d finally be saying the future of London tours is on two high-tech, self balancing wheels, Al?
- I would Ben. Gotta go. I’ve got more horses’ heads here than the bleedin mafia…and no legs. Tony dropped out.
- arse
- exactly