Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 17 April 2014
All's well that ends well (more Shakespeare) and I couldn't let you darlings go to bed tonight without letting you know I am safe and still - almost - in one piece.
I waited for my friend to leave his well-equipped metal workshop to take the dog for a walk, then I put it in a vice and exerted some mighty pressure on the stubborn thread, and it opened.
It is empty, but I only know that now. My stupid fucking camera has focussed on the car roof reflection rather than the fucking bomb, but you can see how empty it is.
So I took it into Waitrose tonight, and placed it on the scales when checking myself out on the self-service scanner. The alarm went off because they thought I was trying to steal a pound and a quarter of whatever, and a supervisor came over to check my bag.
"It's ok," I said, "It's a hand-grenade."
She just smiled and walked away, being too young to know that I was telling the horrifying truth.
When I was in my workshop looking for tools, I found this Arsenal dart. I have no idea how it got there.