Unhappy Frank

Frank looked at the table hardly daring to look at the table. 'I hate that table,' he said 'Bloody owld table in my house.'

Then he looked at the clock. 'Damn that clock in my house,' said Frank, for it was his house you know. After a little bit his eye came across his very mother's chair. 'Don't like that chair one bit,' he showbedy. 'Just look at that garbet all filby and durby.

How am I supposed to look affaffter all this garby ruddish. Wart am I but a slave tow look upon with deesekfrebit all all the peegle larfing and buzing me in front of all the worled. How can I but garry on? How? Hab I no live of my own to do but wart I must ever jub gleenig and looking areftor theesе damn owld house of my own?' Frank went over to his dubb old mothеr, whomn was stikl liffing with him.

'What are you larfing at you dubb owld boot?'

'Havn' I nuff treble without you kakking in the korber?'

With that Frank stub up and kicked her plainly on the head.

'Take that for larfing you budd oled griff.' 'I hate that boot,' he said smiling quirkley to themselves.

'I'm going to sell this daft shed and you to aswell, also Mummy.'

So he sold it all and left the country and settled down in another country which he did not loke half as much as his dear old home in England with his dear old quaint old luvly mother what he (Frank) lost due to a bad harvest. Which judd go to show what happens.