Dare to Poke God's Eye The Weekly: Maintaining Britain's Standards
State of the Pound
This feature is concluded.
The pound is up 5.2 against the hunched mutterings of an unfamiliar man concealing a damaged leather bag of sandy rabbits.
The pound is down 1.14 against another pound.
The pound is up 9 exactly against two men in Newcastle-under-lyme with just a box of cogs and a dream.
The pound is holding steady against that feeling of angry frustration akin to having four seconds in which to convey electro-magnetic induction to 40 six-year-old Polish mutes in a plummeting lift filled with water and a thrashing bison.
The pound is up 0.77 against today's drunken currencies, the yen and the franc. The mark is mildly drunk, but exempt as it called in sick.
The pound is up 5.5 against Planck's Constant.
The pound can't complain.
The pound is up 6.11 against three women jostling to fix their lips in front of a Birmingham night-club lavatory mirror.
The pound is down marginally against the swing-beat whistling of the substitute postie.
The pound is up 8.22 against that oblanceolate-headed termagant you know to nod to.
The pound is up three-and-a-half against a waste-paper basket stuffed with burning documents detailing an experiment the world is not yet ready to understand.
The pound is fewer.
The pound is up 4 exactly against the terrible coincidence of a single chip of gravel spat airborne from beneath a car's squeezing wheel breaking an old man's temple and spilling him dead on his conscientious shopping.
The pound is on the whole down against the idea.
The pound is up 2.38 against the secret paralytic resignation that you'll wait until the carriage is moving before you really explore the nagging feeling you're on the wrong train.
The pound is up 19 against a light barium meal.
The pound is down 2 because of poor handwriting.
The pound is up 9 against the resonance of distant thunders.
The pound is up 4.01 against a rolling peal of the church bell, announcing Sunday service, or possibly an invasion. Better take your bayonet to be on the safe side.
The pound is down 17 against the scrabbling in the hearth.
The pound is up 0.6192 against a single throaty cry cut off by the sounds of a heavy blow, then a pause and a loud splash, but it's probably the cat next door again.
The pound is slightly down against the guinea, but slightly up against 239 pennies.
The pound is holding steady against the evil pound.
The pound is quite embarrassed about the state of itself and resolves to pull up its socks and ask about that job in the library first thing tomorrow morning.
The pound is up 2 against the rapid bowing of a furious cellist.
The pound is up a single against an angel gaining its wings then flying exhilaratingly straight into a spider's web.
The pound is unavoidably detained, so will be played today by its talented youngster understudy, the washer.
The pound is down 1 against Richard Stilgoe, although it's early days yet, Bob.
The pound is down 5.19 against exciting new currency, the dabble. Read next week's issues to find out how the mystery dabble knows the pound - and why it wants it dead.
The pound is on its uppers, guv, so if you could see your way clear to lending it a pound, that would be grand.
The pound is up a fairly roomy basket of acceptable construction against the barter.
The pound is up four-and-twenty against a wise investment in an exciting new range of pies.
The pound is up 5 against the fleeting euphoria of paying itself itself at the end of the month.
The pound is hovering around the 50 mark. That's mark as in indication or sigil, not the currency, around which hovering is discouraged by treaty.
The pound is down 21 against the BRITON'S MORTIFICATION of a shouting row in a restaurant, barely lessened by its happening to another table.
The pound is up 8 against the light bong of a saucepan colliding with an unremorseful skull.
The pound is up six-and-a-half against the peseta when packed tightly into a poised sock as an investment opportunity in secluded lanes leading away from the theatre.
The pound is down 19 against a fascinated scuba diver ignorant of the anchor's unpromising plunge.
The pound is struggling with the pfennig on a moonlit rooftop. A cudgel raised - it falls - a harsh cry - and silence. What has happened? See the next exciting report.
The pound is up 16.9 against the effort expended to lift a tin bath full of ratlings above your head in a single, decisive movement.
The pound is down 98 against biting with a fractured tooth into a twist of lemon.
The pound is quite nice with potatoes.
The pound is up 11 against the meaningless neutrality of hating everything.
The pound has put on a couple of pennies since giving up its afternoon swim.
The pound is bursting with the BRITON'S PRIDE as the currency most prized by forgers.

The pound is down 3.3 against the gin-fuelled beration of a one-armed seamstress and, reeling, supports itself breathlessly against the crumbled walls of a dreary pickling factory.

The pound is up at the crack of dawn to put food on the table, so you ruddy well act grateful.
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