I was walking long the street thinking how to find and ensnare this accursed batter pudding hurler that has been terrorizing the town. Just then, a man approached me, towing a gas oven behind him on a piece of string. "'Scuse me guvnor," he says, "Have you got a match? Only me pilot light's gorn out and me batter pudding's getting cold." "Certainly my good man!" I replied, "Here keep the box!" And off he went happily, leaving me with that warm glow of satisfaction that one gets from doing a kindly and selfless act.
Now, where was I ...?