Jokes Cracked by Lord Aberdeen
The great-aunt died and I inspected her house. Irish linens never opened, a congealed wedding bouquet in a bell jar, a significant issue of the Taranaki Herald in the jersey drawer. In the news that day, there was rugby club war. You can either sort it out or biff it out, someone said to me, carrying out a box of silver. A table made of the old back fence, a portrait of her granduncle, the eyes coloured in with red biro. The whiskey smell of oak cabinets. In the realm of wit and humour, Lord Aberdeen is a force to conjure with. Here the publishers have great pleasure in introducing to the public a few of his gems. I kept a vase with a bullet hole in it and left the rest.