Jargogled, at all?

A slight touch of apricity at last, after so much lumming and the not so distant memory of snowbroth, not to mention the enlivening prospect of a longer twitter-light, tempted me out on my bike again.

Not that the exercise is likely to turn me into a monsterfully callipygian snoutfair, but it might hold at bay for a little longer the chances of becoming a complete jollux. Alas, the wind deals such a curglaff that any bike discovers its inherent resistentialism, gorgonizing the rider into an elflocked quockerwodger, reduced to groaking outside the chippy like a lunting slubberdegullion, or tempted into the warmth of the pub, even at the risk of a fuzzled, crapulous curmuring.

In case you're thinking these must be the beef-witted twattlings, hugger-mugger cant or grumpish brabbling of a lethophobic cockalorum, relax: it's just a test of whether it pays, as the Reader's Digest used to say, to increase your word power - with the help of this little list.