Trains and owl tits.

I was on the train back home from London, cowering in a dress that would make the 19th century nobility jealous. It was a disguise, before you ask. The train, engine choo-chooing and pistons a-pistoning... Actually, I'll stop there. I don't know much about trains. Suffice to say, the train was working as it should, transporting us along the railway line at an acceptable speed. I was pleasantly drifting in and out of consciousness in my seat, the warm embrace of the sandman caressing my painted face and plump, overstuffed fake cleavage.

See? That Owl doesn't have teats for one thing...Image via WikipediaThe train sped onwards, darting across countryside and through tunnels. I wished it would just stick to the track, but I'm old-fashioned like that. Plus I was worrying it might hit a fox or a badger or something. I've read the Animals of Farthing Wood, that was enough mammal tragedy to last me a lifetime. Well, technically some of those animals weren't mammals. Stupid, nipple-less Farthing Wooders. But you get the point. Whatever it was.

Where was I going with this again?