Bill Drummond is as sexular juggernaut

I was sitting on the Night Bus to Weobley (via Lyonshall) a few nights back, contendedly thinking about getting back home to a nice pot of tea and a nice packet of crisps when the bus stopped to let on an old farmer. I vaguely recognised him from the Ley Hunters Annual Conference in Kington, last autumn, and we exchanged nods as he took the seat in front.

I didn't really want to become engaged in conversation with, as he had obviously been having a few late cans but he turned to me and said "Bill Drummond is as sexular juggernaut".

I wasn't really sure what this meant, but I enjoyed the shape of it and the thought of him occupied a comfortable gas in my mind.

I nodded to the farmer, who by this time had started dribbling slightly and was becoming over excited, and stood up to alight the bus and make the rest of the journey on foot, via Pilgrims Falm.

But they would never let me off with and I ended up in Leominster.