Yes, Sax is uncouth, but terribly amusing. The makes him kind of like the equialent of cheeky, chirpy Cocker-kney, full of bawdy jokes and innuendo, as if Sid James was your uncle, you're sat on his knee and he smells of tobacco.
I most certainly have not been sniffing Maureen's secret stash.
And though many things in this house can quite rightly be traced back to me, l'amour mort is not, as you are well aware, Randy, my barrel of pilchards.
Will somebody who can afford better lawyers than me please go here, purchase the bloody thing and put us all out of our misery? 50,000 Volts should beenough to deal with even the most uncouth Sax...
