Kia Ford: The Hammer Girl's English Premiere Production

“Blue and gold, blue and gold, I am not that old,” hummed Kia Ford sending a rhythmic message while picking out an ensemble, “navy is ever so true when selecting, gold and blue”.

“Peacock,” the Hammer girl shouted, “when is our social activity with the military?”

“3 PM,” Kia Ford’s featherily fowl companion responded, “but I want to get there early to see the procession.”

“Procession?” Questioned the star spangled carrying her own banner.

“Dressed in red and white the gunners show their powerful might,”

“Red and white?”

“And top of the table,” the Peacock continued holding the door.

“When we get back, our agenda item needing addressing, is the relegation issue,”

Venturing towards the airfield, where the hanger resides, housing courageous warriors and Kia Ford’s hunky men.

“Wow,” Kia Ford described with the Peacock taking notice.

“They all form that precision picture,”

“But do they have goals?” Was the point that Kia Ford wanted investigated.

Getting closer, someone caught the mover and shaker’s eye, “where have I seen that one before?”

Grabbing binoculars the Peacock identified the character, “uh huh,”

After former tenant Porsche Man picked up her hardware, no one noticed the Rice Man, and he enlisted as a gunner. Now that a more mature individual occupied the English Premiere Estates, headlining a survivor relegation script the Rice Man moved onto different goals. Confronting past heated diplomatic situations, today’s outing should be written off as picking up some pointers by the pair.

“I have to tell you,” Kia Ford commentated, “he looks good."

“Enough to have a goal,” stated the Peacock, shrugging shoulders.

Right before the break, those with gunners sent a message warning why seats are reserved at the top and winning isn’t based on humiliation.

“Boy that was close,” Kia Ford mentioned, a little too loud, sparking an infraction not far into the second half, busting the two for spying.

As the MP representatives, dragged Kia Ford and the Peacock, towards the penalty zone, they knew their day sightseeing, was finished.

“What did we do?” Kia Ford inquired.

“You just gave us a goal to ice the cake,” a Gunner desk clerk confirmed.

“Well,” Kia Ford thought for a moment, “if you said cake, I guess you could just saka to me.”

“Actually, it is bail payment, and now you can leave,” the gunner informed.

Later in the evening, the Peacock and Kia Ford quietly stared into space, “no, energy drinks in the refrigerator?”

“No,” the Peacock negatively responded, “no need.”

“You know, those gunners didn’t even know me,”

“You are,” the Peacock confirmed, “the West Ham United headed for relegation.”

“What am I going to do? Peacock,” Kia Ford pleaded, “I want to stay on the elite side, and I truly love the English Premiere Estates lifestyle.”

For a second, the Peacock stepped away, and ventured into the hallway, “oh great Bowen shrine, where can I get goals? Kia Ford needs them, as a mysterious phenomenon engulfed the flat and the Peacock could see the bubble machine jingle, “I am Nuno, the spirited Saint and I proclaim to you my friend the Peacock, ‘get an agent’, then they will realize Kia Ford is fit for this level and goals will come.”

Next day couch potatoe spudding, the Peacock had a daily planner and pen in hand while sipping coffee when Kia Ford entered, “any luck getting a publicity manager?”

“No,” the Peacock answered they are wild about the tabletop clients.

“What about Brent Ford?”

“He’s next,”

Standing there Kia Ford admired the Peacock, watching the festive fowl, razzle then dazzle the conversation, “any luck?”

“He is on an international break then busy the following weekend,” the Peacock paused, “but could stop over for a Monday night meeting, he says the prime-time viewing might do the trick.”

“That is if I get goals,” Kia Ford surmised.

“Right,” the Peacock agreed.