Funky has sought out a park bench far away from the crowd in order to limber up his wobbly, creaky, Stilton-toned legs, when along comes Crazy Harry. “Crazy” actually seems kind of normal today. It’s only when he’s in his postal uni and tweed cap, swilling free coffee at Montoni’s counter, that he rambles nonsensically. What does our mailman deliver today? Just a setup for yet another Funky rant about the cost of living.
Son of Stuck Funky 