|This is what Britain should be like, but with a car wash and a jacuzzi|
“If there’s such a desperate shortage, why don’t they just cut off Peckham?” he demanded. “They can put their precious standpipes outside the Jobcentres and the magistrates’ courts. That sort are used to queueing, aren’t they?”
“Damn and blast it, it’s spitting with rain again!” he roared obsessively. “Now I’ll have to wash all those spots off my car’s newly-exposed bodywork before the bloody thing collapses in a heap of rust. Why isn’t the sun shining? Call this summer? How am I supposed to fill a car with water with the bloody roof up?”
“Pass me that goddamned hose again!” he screamed.