In which S. Duck makes no apology for spoiling the end of The Da Vinci Code for the three Borneo tribesmen who haven't read it yet
I did a
A young lady got on the tube at Charing Cross, and sat across the aisle from me. Sadly, she whipped out a copy of The Da Vinci Code from her handbag, going down in my estimation considerably.
Early doors, she was only on page thirty or so, which meant I had every chance of weaning her off this badly-written tripe before it was too late. So, getting off at Paddington, I told her the five words that should ultimately do the trick, and save her several wasted days having her brain DanBrown-washed.
Because, God help me, some of you still might not want to know the ending, and I humbly suggest you never darken my door again, you'll need to highlight the five words of woe to read them. RSS readers, on the other hand, may wish to look away now:
Then, leg it.
Free book offer! I once threw a copy of The Da Vinci Code out of a train window just outside Southampton in disgust and despair at its utter crapness. It's probably still there if you want it.