So our hero gets back to the demense after a hard day poodling about the place, lisping and charging people a fortune for it and what does he find? No wife for starters (her car, shoes and Mobby are GPS linked to an associates security grid. Dont get ideas cos I can find your Mum) but a load of bumf from RBL. The Battle of Britain Poppy Raffle. Mint I think. At last they have listened. Make some dosh in the summer and overcome the November spike. My time with the crusties has not been wasted. Then I check their badly designed tat. One book of raffle tickets at a quid a pop? Woooo. That will make all of ten pounds, you under achieving but well meaning Muppets. Stickers? Yeah, OK if you must. I'll give them to the Grandchildren and they can hand them out at their BNP Junior Leaders rallies. Then... THEN I SAY... the final fucking insult. All the tat is addressed to Posh Bird. Just because her people commanded tankies and were called Wingco or Sir. Where mine were mostly jailed. Bah. I could do two books of raffle tickets at Â£5 a sheet. But do they ask me? Oh no. Uncle Cecil had been got ratted by some Navy types when he comitted the alleged crime, but do they forget? They do not.