I expect literally nobody has been wondering what the penguins have been getting up to in Thailand. I guess it was inevitable really: our flightless friends couldn't resist trying to take advantage of the fluid political situation in the land of smiles. But they soon found that there is no place in the country's evolving political spectrum for their particular brand of violent, neo-fascist penguinism.
Fed up with it all, they then decided to take to the sea and swim home to the Arctic (see pic below)
They soon found out that four months of bone-idle mooching in a backpack does nothing for anybody's fitness levels. They came waddling back in shame. As I knew they would. Little vermin.
But speaking of returning home, the world appears to be conspiring against our plans to do it "sans avion" unfortunately. Our budget doesn't quite stretch to paying pirate ransoms so it would appear taking a boat from Bombay up the Red Sea to Egypt is out and the train route through Pakistan and Iran is apparently now a hotspot for the laughably misnamed war on terror. People are so bloody inconsiderate! Honestly!
So this is my plan: a direct appeal to Roman Abramovich, the sandpaper-faced Russian money hoarder with a penchant for bikini models and relentlessly annoying football teams.
"Roman old buddy! I hate Chelsea more than short people with umbrellas but I know you read this blog and I know you love it, so how about you sling us one of your yachts for a few weeks so we can take it round the Cape and back to Blighty?"
I fail to see a flaw in this plan. Comments on the plan are unwelcome, unless they're welcoming of it.
PS I lost my long johns. Cock.
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