Kia Ford Attending The English Premiere Festivities

Braving the bitter setting, Kia Ford returned, ready, raising the curtain, displaying the British flat where she resided with her costar ‘the peacock’. Venturing outside the colorful marketing creature retrieved, an Amazon box. “What did you have delivered?” The All-American west ham shouted.

“Uh,” the Peacock paused presenting an upbeat personality, “just a part needed to get goals, where have you been?”

“Visiting Astin Villas and while unpacking inside one of the units,” Kia Ford explained while commencing, homeward bound stair climbing, “found a goal and was looking mighty fine.”

“I put a goal in your suitcase,” The Peacock confessed, breaking the tape off the cardboard.

“Oh, you did,” Kia Ford interest perked, “in fact I had my sights on a nice FA Cup, well into the meeting’s second half.”

“And” the Peacock closed the door.

“They scored two goals, one right after the other,” Kia Ford tragically recounted, “and boom, knocked out.”

“Welcome home,” the Peacock finally greeted removing the important contents, “yes, it is the GP Battery, perfect when jump starting prioritizing goals.”

“Great,” Kia Ford tracks halted, “but what happened to the Shrine?”

“First these batteries, are for the bubble machine, hopefully that will stimulate our humble surroundings giving full attention to achieving goals,” the Peacock took a breath, “as for the shrine, let’s be honest, reality declares, not here.”

“So, we cannot depend on the Shrine?” Kia Ford felt a dark cloud descend.

A few days later, Mr. Craven performed a well-fair check, pressing all entry buttons, allowing the Peacock an opportunity to show the contraption working.

“We surely are going to get goals with the GP Batteries.”

Hearing the alert the Peacock, sauntered over revealing. “Mr. Craven?”

“Is the lady of the house in?”

“I am the resident Peacock, will I do?”

“If you let me in,” Craven replied, watching the faithful fowl step aside, “Kia, Kia Ford!”

“Tommy, can you hear me?” Kia Ford emerged hoping the offsides would not be seen, “I thought I could get an early goal but,”

“Tommy, can you hear me, was offsides,” Craven politely reminded.

“That is correct,” Kia Ford disappointingly admitted, “you know I was down at Astin’s Villas and nearly made the next round.”

“But they evicted you,” Craven snarked, “I read an editorial in the newspaper.”

Suddenly, the Peacock ran through the conversation and grabbed sunglasses, “Kia, those GP batteries are creating, a bright warm sensation on my shoulders,”

“You mean I have a goal,” Kia Ford wondered.

“No, better, a sunroof,” the Peacock described observing bubbles travelling skyward.

“A goal like that, Peacock, beats any goals you have at your cottage, Craven,”

Feeling beat, knowing the first half ending, a visitor approached the apartment, “I will answer it,” the Peacock announced.

“I am Tommy, and I heard you,” the Peacock received the message.

“Look it that,” Kia Ford acknowledged, “that is two goals to your none.”

Deciding a break, inevitable, Craven confronted fresh air, enjoying the relaxing oxygen and was rewarded a goal, “We are doing really well, getting goals today,” Kia Ford smiled noticing Craven drop his guard, “and look I got another one, time to start packing.”

“Stop, right there,” Craven commanded, missing the Peacock disappear, “I have one more goal in me.”

“But Craven, that is not going to happen,” Kia Ford informed, watching Craven reach for his belongings, “its best you be going.”

When everything quieted down the Peacock appeared carrying a filled travel bag, “what is that? Peacock,”

“You said time to start packing,” the Peacock responded.

“It was a figure of speech, I am home for a while, entertaining representatives from Crystal Palace”

“Ah, the Glaziers, they are pleasant royals,”

“We need to get into the upper half,” Kia Ford spelled out concluding the sunroof investment, could be the future goal generator opposed to the under-construction Shrine.