He folded the Sunday Times Margaret Thatcher Commemorative Edition into a roll, beatified head in plain view. Perhaps more Boudica than Joan of Ark but never Boadicea whatever she thought of herself. Having secured it with red tape, he opened the front loading DEFRA approved wood burning stove and manoeuvred the computer mouse so that it hovered just below the still picture of Glenda Jackson.
He placed what he considered to be the Dead C's scroll on the right side of the stove next to a toilet roll inner stuffed with Rupert Murdoch's article in the oft rumoured soon to be merged paper from the preceding Wednesday. Though concerned about the further contamination of the environment by Heavy Metals he reasoned that the toxic effect of his actions would be minimalistic compared to theirs.
Using a trick he had practised at length in his youth he struck the England's Glory match against his Levis 501 Blue Jeans 100% Cotton Denim Straight Leg - 32 X 30 ensuring the ensuing draught didn't douse the flame.
With the cardboard alight he closed the door and replaced the guard. He left clicked the mouse, unbuttoned his flies and dropped the jeans to the floor. He hadn't directed such warmth onto his bare ass like this since setting light to his Personal Development File on his retirement from teaching some half a dozen or so years ago.
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