Archive for February, 2002

A man walks into a pub late one afternoon. He sees a beautiful woman at the bar. She is alone, apparently unattached, reading the paper

‘Don’t fly to Belgrade in January, you’ll never get out.” As the dense fog enveloped the central Serbian plain I knew what my Yugoslavian colleague had meant

So Paddy, what the fuck do you know about the fucking French market then?

Ms Rice Davis and her pal Christine Keeler — both call girls — had been sleeping with Profumo, who was Harold McMillan’s defence secretary