Douglas Thacker walked through the town centre on a Saturday afternoon in the full cowboy getup that he wore during the bulk of his free time. “
“Bugger off, it's siesta time and we're trying to sleep!” one of the trees grumbled, its lurid green cat-like eyes almost as big as saucers.
“Twannocks!” Toad Type Thing groaned when he got up one Saturday morning and discovered what the Pixie Type Things had done to his lovely garden.
“'Ere,” said the ancient, tarted up harridan on the make-up counter in Boots to her even more decrepit colleague. “Did you see what I saw?”