Spam and Eggs (on faces)

Every day I sift through a mountain of spam of such a size that you could feed a small Eastern Bloc country on it for a year. If you held banquets for neighbouring countries. Every day. Perhaps twice a day.

Some are funny, and some are downright ingenious. Then there was today’s.

We’ve never really had proper Quartet Spam before. Sure there’s a whole who’s who of ‘famacies’ offering ‘the vary best’ of pills in a whole kaleidescope of colours. And there’s no end of ‘qualitie rollex’ watches and air-conditioning (really, that’s a spam top-seller is it?).

But today we had an offer from a Nigerian. Not of allowing our account to hold family fortunes, or the sad news of my far-distant aunt Mable’s car crash, and despite not having had relations in Nigeria for the last 15 generations at least I am her nearest relative.

Today we had a gig. Not just any gig, but a gig so special it had to be organised in secret. Only after payment had been made could it’s UK location be announced to us. The guests were secret too. But it was a to-dollar gig. Once the payment by cheque had been handed over to our bank we’d know all about it. And we could pull out too.

Brilliant. Lots of thought and energy went into that email. But are we free? What’s the date?

Ah, the 30.02.2008 .

Umm. I have nothing in my diary for February 30th. But then I suspect most people are free. If I were arranging a top-secret gig I’d hold it on a top-secret day too.

Another cunning plan Baldrick, once again fowled up by the arrival of Mr Cockup.

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