Butter churner.
Unless he's been lying to me for years, I most definitely do know.
He's not an uphill gardener, and he doesn't putt from the rough afaik, so don't bother with those.
Now go away.
I'm going to bed. Got early works. I'll let Art tell you for himself.
Now go away.
Alrite, mate. Nighty night.
Arty's been gone all day. It's not like him, not like him at all.
Maybe he's been struck down in the line of duty. By one of the animals he keeps in Auckland zoo.
That's a bit harsh, can you imagine what calamity must have befallen Mary such that her routine be interrupted to this extent.
It has to be incarceration of some description.
Arty probably went out for a few leisurely Sunday beers and only just got up in time for work on Monday morning. It's about half one in the afternoon with him, I imagine he'll be home shortly after feeding the bats or w.e.
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