Greetings to all ducks and other amphibian critters.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that summer had been cancelled this year, what with all the splooshyness outside the window; and I’m sure we all hate feathers getting wet, or icky mud between the claws… I know I do.

So, banished to our assorted twigs, perches, and roosts by aquatic distemper, what’s to do with all this spare inside-ness, so dry and shiny? This be-socketed dream of deep-piled comfyness that so favours the pursuit of electronic entertainment?

You could browse cats LOL-ing on the web, read this blog [we make grateful note of your discerning eyeballs applying time and attention to these very lines, and salute you, oh noble refugee of Atlantis], or engage in that curious institution that is the SUMMER SALE!


No, no, NO – we’d never be so presumptuous as to offer you the ACTUAL SUMMER for sale – a British institution beloved of seaside picture postcards, fondly remembered by those of an aged appearance who STILL hark on about ‘that summer of 79’, and who progress from blue to pork crackling at the first glance of the entirely mythical ‘fiery eye in the sky’.

No, alas, the Great British Summer is showing signs of considerable water damage.

However, while we all strap our kitchen tables together with the last remains of the cork flooring in the hall, do make sure you beat the rush… of flood waters to THE STEAM SUMMER SALE, WHERE – FOR A BRIEF TIME, ONLY – WE’RE OFFERING A RATHER PLEASANT 75% OFF THE SHIP.

75%? Aye, Chihuahua! That almost makes the soggy cress sandwiches and sandbags worth it,

Toot, toot.

The Griffin.

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