The poultry farmer swung his car into the club car park so fast that he narrowly missed a nun who had been hanging around furtively by the parked cars. Gathering her cape, she nearly fell over a Big Issue seller asleep in the flower bed. Gravel flew about: tyres, brakes and chickens screeched. The Big Issue seller woke up. Inside the club, looking out of the window, an American millionaire hosting a Vogue fashion model from Thailand, was outraged at the interruption. The fashion model lisped: ‘I got car!’ ‘What?’ asked the millionaire. ‘I got car!’ ‘I’ve got a chauffeur-driven limo!’ roared the millionaire. ‘Has it started?’ shouted the farmer as he rushed to the bar. The nun followed furtively. The Big Issue seller was just behind her. ‘Hello,’ he said to the fashion model. ‘Haven’t we met before?’ ‘I got car!’ she yelled. ‘It was in Thailand. You were called Bobby.’ ‘I thought your name was Marilyn,’ said the millionaire. ‘He’s not saying car, said the nun, who’d once been a missionary working with ladyboys in Thailand. ‘Score!’ shouted the farmer, looking at the TV screen. ‘Near miss!’ shouted the nun. ‘Nearly a miss,’ lisped the fashion model.
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