by 3arn0wl

The ringers at the Hallowed Prostitute had decided to sound a peal of bells on the eve of the Diamond Jubilee of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth’s accession to the throne.  Unfortunately, due to the adverse weather conditions, their plans were severely curtailed.

Initially there was just Bob, and after a while he started wondering whether to knock it on the head or just dolefully toll the Tenor.  Then the twins arrived, and they started thinking about the possible permutations with three bells.

However, they couldn’t cut through the muffled stillness of the day until Angel Feathers turned up.

And then they rang Canterbury, St. Nicholas,  and – most aptly – Court, .ɘbɒɿǫoɿƚɘɿ ni ǫniʜƚ ɘloʜw ɘʜƚ ǫniob ɘɿoʇɘd

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