What is it with Suffolk? The last twelve months alone has seen the mass slaughter of prostitutes in Ipswich, two separate outbreaks of bird flu, the arrival of midge-borne bluetongue disease, and an almost deadly tidal surge. One of my cousins is married to a Suffolk vicar. I can’t help thinking that his prayers are proving singularly ineffective. Indeed, they seem to have been positively counter-productive, calling down the twenty-first century equivalent of a Biblical curse.
In fact, the only redeeming feature I can detect is that it gives us all the chance to cloak a well-known obscenity in geographical decency:
“How are you feeling, old man?”
“Completely and utterly Suffolked.”
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