Let me tell you a story, branflake: A young man called Hilary visits a stonemasonry yard in Clackmannanshire. He orders a dozen shaped stones, which he plans to use for his garden rockery. The stonemason, an elderly man by the name of Goater, promises to deliver the stones by midday the following day. Hilary heads home and prepares the ground for the upcoming delivery. Sadly, however, the delivery time passes without any sign of Goater's arrival. Peeved by the inconvenience, Hilary heads back to the stonemasonry yard, determined to give Goater a piece of his mind. On entering the yard, Hilary soon begins to feel a creeping sensation of malevolence in his bones. He backs away, inching ever so slowly towards the entrance gate, but then he stumbles on a stone, twisting his ankle in the process and causing him to fall to the ground. Hilary yelps in pain, his ankle throbbing. He starts to drag himself out of the yard, desperate to escape the miasma of doom now shrouding his very being. A voice calls out: 'You wasted my time, young man. I called this morning to deliver your rocks, but no one answered.' 'That's impossible,' Hilary replies, his eyes attempting to seek out the source of the words. 'I waited in until 12.30pm before coming here.' 'Rubbish! I knocked and knocked, but no answer came.' 'It's true,' Hilary asserts. 'I just want my rocks.' Suddenly a shadow passes over Hilary. The shadow raises its arms, a rock now apparent in the ghastly hands, and brings them down with deathly force - once, twice, three times upon Hilary's head. 'Why?' Hilary manages to utter as he spirals towards mortality. But no reply is forthcoming. Instead, the spectre just tosses a book down upon Hilary's lifeless corpse. An hour later, a policeman arrives on the scene. He stands and observes the grisly plateau, bemused as to why a book has been placed on the body. He bends down and picks up the well-used tome, turning it over to see if any clue can be gleaned from its presence. Confusion furrows the policeman's brow as he reads the title aloud: 'Crying With Laughter, by Bob Monkhouse.'
But you did read it. You know you did. You used your precious time. Now get back to your Malmo FF scrapbook.
