An early Morning Walk

Belching, I raked at my balls. I should have had a wesh but the morns
morn; even next week would het ti D'.
My belly seemed to have this ability to lever up ma vest, and the strap
on me flip flop has bust again. But hey needs must, and mebe the
charity shop will have something to rig me oot.
I yawned, scratched my arse, spat in the gutter, carefully farted so
as not to follow through. Then furtively looked around to see if anyone
had seen or heard my ablutions. I'm good, but my work often goes
unnoticed, and a D' like an audience.
Anyway I needed the bog, so I walked with those quick dainty steps;
that tells everyone you're dying for a shite. Teeth gritted, buttocks
clenched as if holding a sixpence; ignoring the "Call of the Wild."
I draw the line at unloading in the street; I'��ve a tidy mind yi kna'. Mind
you I'm sure I could get a note from the "Quack." Bloody Guinness,
total arse medicine.
So lips drawn tightly across my teeth in a demented smile, I made
my way to Wetherspoons, to see if there were any under-graduate
waiters wandering the tables, with a unclaimed "Full English brekky."
"A kna, a kna" am taking the piss, but a man's gotta eat like, and
I'��d just cleared my heed, great lavies here. Now If I could just get my
hands on one of those free refill mugs I'm coffeed up for the day.

R