Jolly good! The kitchen is over yon. [He hands Brax the communicator and leads him towards the kitchen. Once there he gingerly touches the side of the kettle, as if maybe, just maybe, it's heated up. Then puts his palm flat against the side and says mournfully,]
Cold as the Thames in January.
[Somehow he does not notice that the gas is lit under the *other* burner. If narrative law didn't protect Bertie, he'd probably burn down his flat or gas himself within a month.]
Spam!
Cold as the Thames in January.
[Somehow he does not notice that the gas is lit under the *other* burner. If narrative law didn't protect Bertie, he'd probably burn down his flat or gas himself within a month.]