Garderobes: Plumbing the Hidden Depths

Hi Y'all! This morning we were a-fixin' to go out. I was still neckid when Jof was pritnear ready, then I had a hankerin for the tarlet. She was right put out and was mighty afeared we'd be late but I said naw, and we ran and were dreckly there, and met them young'uns ShelbyLyn and Bubba and Enos and Bobbi Jo and Cleavon and Billy Jo JimBob and Earlene, Faylene and Raylene. Hey, shore cain't get no more suth'n than me, 'ceptin mebbe Plymouth. Ooo-ar.
Actually had an afternoon at home for once. Harvey has put me onto a groovy Lego games site and I'm just waiting for that all-important email confirmation by a parent or legal guardian and I'm off.
In olds (not news), Great-Great Grandad was a builder in London during the war and he had flashy fob watches and a War Office licence to enter burning buildings when struck by bombs (which we've still got, you never know).
One such unfortunate building was a church and once he'd rescued the people sheltering within from acts of god and demolished it, he kept the key as a memento. That practically constitutes a collection so today we improved it with 2 more (smaller ones) from that nice chap Mr E. Bay. Now I can either be a Victorian Gaoler or open a pub called the Cross Keys.