Do you know what a cankle is? I don’t think I do. I don’t remember a lot of what I know sometimes, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t know a cankle even if I tripped over one.
An oyster with rum? a carbuncle? a furuncle? a firkin?
My tenant, Poppy Buxom, (to your right there, she of the drivel and persiflage) doesn’t know either. But she freely admits to not knowing all sorts of things, while I try to bluff it through. Cankles, you say? I ran inro some with thingymabobs last Tuesday when I went to the whatchamacallit with whatisname.