Gutflash

Listman has food poisoning. Not from eating at Gaucho Gazpacho, nor even from Spic 'n' Spam - he's far too careful ever to dine at these cathedrals to bacteria. No, he's not sure where he got it or what he ate, but it all smells a bit fishy. While he has been confined to bed, racked with stomach cramps, it's been a bit chaotic. The corgi scampered onto the moose's antlers while he was grazing in the back garden, and when the moose lifted his head suddenly, thinking that a Listman groan emanating from the toilet window was a female moose desirous of attention, the corgi was catapulted over the fence into next door's compost heap.

Keith came round, sized up the situation - free house - and swiftly set up a little dealing outfit in the kitchen, using the kitchen scales to measure out the gear. Alf came round and tried to heal Listman using astrological influences. And Claudio came round with an old Argentinian cure for gastric poisoning, which apparently you have to carry in a lead casket and not get onto your skin.

So there may be more from the Listpeople soon, and there may not.