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Story No. 23988
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So I cheated death for a time, and, by arriving a month early, I saved myself from the ignominious fate of being born under the sign of
the pie. Meat pie, nice juicy Balfours, with sauce of course. All praise the mighty meat! And woe betide the converts to the vegetarian cornish monstrosities, posing as
vegetarian welsh monstrosities! But they were easy to spot since their singing voices were no good, and if you could trick them into performing a Tom Jones routine then they'd
break for ten minutes for a quick scotch and a cigarette. Then back on stage for Gene Kelly number. This one was a crowd-pleaser. A Gene Kelly routine was
running austere in the background, all eyes and elements transfixed on the motion of the body, Harmonium Mundi, as he swept her up, chiffon trailing, into his
private jet. They were enjoying some wine and practising throaty laughs when tragedy struck. The pilot had called in sick and his replacement – a lavender bush – lost control of the plane. Broken limbs and twigs were strewn all over the Pacific.
