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Gobbledegook

Overheard in Café Rouge, Nottingham, last Thursday:

‘Greg, we need to schedule in some face-time with Johnston.’

‘I’m on it.’

‘I hate Johnston. He makes me feel gay.’

‘I know what you mean, but I really like the guy.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Oh yeah, Me and Johnston go way back. He’s like my brother from another mother.’

‘But he’s not your brother, though, is he?’

‘No, Keith, he’s not my brother.’

‘My brother’s a pilot.’

‘Ooh, gosh-wow, super-colossal. Shall we get back to the office?’

‘British Airways, mostly. Just been sacked, you know.’

‘Flying drunk, was he? Ha ha!’

‘No. Actually, they found out he no longer had a valid international passport and – ‘

‘He what?’

‘Yeah . . . Um, I was going to ask you, actually, Greg, what with your connections and communication skills and everything . . . I was wondering if you could give him a hand. He’s been confined to a hotel room in Rio de – ‘

‘Keith, even my astounding powers do not extend to unlocking the borders of sovereign nations.’

‘No, I suppose not . . . I was just wondering if . . . you know . . .’

‘Button it, Keith.’

‘Sorry.’