Avatar Mrs Miggins is up to no good

Back in April, we learned that Mrs Miggins was redeveloping the heart of her enormous property empire. 75 Farringdon Road, the fine property where either Ian or I fell head over heels in love with the lucrative old crone, had the builders in.

I’ve been back to see what she’s done with the place, and I have to say I’m shocked. Take a look for yourself.

A respectable office building, you think to yourself. A fine example of the tasteful architecture and prime locations that have made Mrs Miggins the property magnate she is today.

I thought so too. But then I noticed something. Have you seen it? Look closer.

There it is. Miggins has handed her shiny new building over to Richard Sisskind of the Crossland Otter Hunt – the only UK hunt that chases otters across land and, presumably, then kills them in horrible ways.

Otters don’t deserve this. Otters are lovely. And I demand to know why Mrs Miggins – once the love of my, or maybe Ian’s, life – has taken on this brutal new pastime.

One thing is for sure. We will not be moving the Pouring Beans office to 75 Farringdon Road. No need to send me those fivers.

17 comments on “Mrs Miggins is up to no good

  • Phew, and I was just taking the fiver out of my wallet too. That has saved me a bunchload (bunch load?) of Newcastle pounds I can tell you.

    Who hunts otters? What have they ever done to this world to deserve such a treatment?

  • Look, don’t misunderstand me. If you’ve got a bunchload (bunch load?) of Newcastle pounds burning a hole in your wallet, feel free to send them on. I’ll cool them right off for you.

    I’ll tell you who hunts otters. Richard Susskind hunts otters. And he hunts them over land too, which is doubly cruel, because they prefer being in the water.

  • Okay. I would like to say that I do have a bunchload (bunch load?) of Newcastle pounds that I could fizzle your way but I don’t. I could draw you some money? Would that work?

    Also, nobody should hunt otters. I’m gonna dose up on toxic masculinity and go after this sucker.

  • We could rig up a Hotter Otter™ as a trap. Richard Susskind will come stalking over the land towards it, try and trap in in a bag or grab it with his hands and get a nasty burn off of it. That’ll show him.

  • I like that plan. A searing hot otter that’ll imprint his hands, so there’s irrefutable evidence when we get the rozzers to deck him.

  • Should… should we give the toxic masculinity to the Hotter Otter then? I wouldn’t want to waste it.

  • I’m smushing my cheeks right into the steak. I’m roaring at tigers whilst I do it. I’m getting up, putting on a pair of wellingtons and kicking down a shed.

  • Your toxic masculinity is burning holes in the fabric of reality. I feel like I’m a big girl’s blouse by comparison to your immeasurable testosteruggedness.

  • That shed deserved it, that’s all I’m saying.

    Also thank you.

    Also, I’ve never been this toxic and it feels GREAT.

  • My face is beaming with orange hate fangs right now, just like wor Trump. I feel like putting up a wall around people who don’t deserve it.

  • Is it? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t favour your ass any more these days than I did in those days.

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