I once had to catch a ferry to Ryde but by mistake got off at the wrong train station. As I wandered around outside, looking lost, a boy—I'd say about 12 years old—rode up to me on a bike. “May I help you, sir?” he asked. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing a tophat and tails.
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Slightly disappointed by the lack of a Ticket to Ryde punchline
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Yeah, but he don't care.
End of conversation
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That's was doubtless the infamous 'Ghost Boy' of Pompey. Destined to forever roam the backstreets of Southsea, seeking the return of a golden age of Empire that will never come, smoking the final one of an everlasting pack of 20 Rothmans.
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Hahaha! I love it!
End of conversation
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Stiff upper lip and so forth
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