It was chaos in the city. Car horns beeped, pedestrians swore. And, no, it wasn’t Armageddon. Nor Christmas.
It was Saturday afternoon.
Suddenly there was a screech of tyres and two drivers yelling over two dented cars. Onlookers walked by. ‘What’s a dent in this town?’ they said. ‘You get one of those every week, even when your car is parked.’ Suddenly the roar of a motorcycle was heard in the distance. Everyone gasped. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? ‘No, it’s Dentman!’ they cried.
‘Stand back, ladies and gentlemen, I can fix this,’ said the leather-clad biker who swiftly repaired the dents on the spot. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ cried one of the drivers from her newly flawless car. ‘I am forever indented to you.’
‘Anytime, ma’am. Just doing my job. Sadly, I can’t do anything to fix your terrible puns.’
Dentman (07774 812512 or dentman.co.uk).