A five minute commute (for you)
A non-backed out of school-night gig (for us)
One day of her as a new-born (don’t look at me like that)
A really high fence for the back garden (for them next door)
An impulse hover over the match ticket purchase button. Go on! press the damn thing.
Life insurance. Oh no, wait, you bought us that last week. Sorry.
Former colleagues. Hey, back off, those are mine.
500 tea-spoons. Only messin’. Eh calm down, I’m sure I can get some next time.
What do you think it looks like? That dime bar dessert from ten years ago you mentioned.
*holds up hanger to chin* For respectability in the workplace. What do you think? It’s probably too small.
A stash of ready-made semi-colons to insert wherever you like.
*reads back of packaging* Oh yeah, I forgot about this – a matching shame-gland to go with the work gear.
Two-for-one confidence supplements. We’re not supposed to use heavy machinery or drive for at least four hours after taking these.
Eternal spotlessness of the box-set mind. It looks more like a tanning machine to me. Still, if it means experiencing The Sopranos from scratch, who cares, eh?
department of speculation 
I like your two for one confidence booster. Mines been a little low recently. Must boost. Enjoy the Sopranos I’ve never watched it but remember well the hype over the last minute of the last episode.
Ta, tric. I managed to watch the entire thing over 2 weeks maternity leave. Then spent the following two weeks checking out the theories from the internet crazies on the last minutes whilst simultaneously distancing myself from them.
Only having heard the ending I thought it was brilliant.
oo oo oo do you have any spare semi-colons? You know how much I love them. Isn’t teaspoon theft a wonderfully satisfying hobby? I gaze upon the ones in our drawer with a wistful smile, fondly remembering where each one came from. It’s a less fraught hobby than acquiring pub glasses.
;;;;;;; ;;; ;;;;;; ;;;;; ;;;; *leans back* Hmmm. I’m getting a weird North Korean line-up from those. Kitchen theft is thrilling. There’s a glass in my parents’ kitchen from which I used to sip Ribena through the ’80s in my best mate’s house. If anything happens it I’ll *shakes fist menacingly*
We have a couple of pint glasses which I believe Himself purloined when he was at uni in your fair country.
Is it any wonder that man exhibits symptoms of PTSD. Please pass on my sympathies.