Hoist with her own wossname

A few miles from us there is a road bridge across a narrow valley. Beneath it, a cycle track runs along the bed of an old railway with a small stream beside it (very rural, very pretty). While waiting for the traffic lights to change I watched a woman carrying a bin full of dead leaves and garden rubbish along the footpath beside the road, clearly intending to tip the lot over the wall (very naughty, very unfriendly to cyclists). Being unfamiliar with Sod’s Law she did just that. At that very moment the trolls that live under the bridge conjoured up an mighty wind that lifted the entire contents of the bin (it was large) into the air in an erupting volcano of muck that completely engulfed her. How I larfed.

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