Hic haec hoc
"That's the trouble with the younger generation," wombled the older generation, "they can't spell 'sieve' these days."
"Maybe it was deliberate," chimed in Arthur, helpfully.
"Shall we ask her," asked her (Theodora).
"Well, we'll have to find her first (not third)," objected Mr T, who had become welded to a deckchair; some inconsiderate bastard had left some warm treacle (molasses to you, dear American viewers). He tried to stand up and failed painfully.
Donkey Hoatee reappeared at that moment; he had never really existed anyway. "Jump aboard my fine green stalliom, and let the quest for Liz begin!"
"Hic!" said Hannibal, who had got quite shozzled on the pooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo×1053p deck.
"Haec!" said Geoffrey, who knew Modern Greek.
"Hoc!" said Simon, who didn't.
And the quest for Liz went "Fweeeeeeee!!!"
(It is not wise at this point to immense oneself in a vat of Napoleon Blownapart. Run, Doctor! Nurb! Nurb!)
So, Emlyn, what happing'd nest?
