Right. ON Tuesday mornings I have to take the Boy to Birkenhead for an hour (medical stuff). I hate Birkenhead. Horrid place. The bit he goes to is quite pleasant - a sort of enclave of civilisation called Oxton. Nice houses, nice village centre with nice shops and restaurants. Pricey. Bit like Hampstead, for those who know Hampstead.
Here: ht
tp://www.oxtonvillage.com/Having time to kill today I wandered about and went into one of the 2 excellent old fashioned local butchers
in search of Dinner Tonight. One guy had venison sausages. Home made. I bought them. No carrier bag so I put them in the very large inside poacher's pocket of my old Barbour and wandered on.
Oh look. A cute, wriggly Border Collie puppy tied up outside the baker's
. I like dogs
I made its acquaintance. Dogs like me. This one REALLY liked me.
It suddenly dived in its entirety into my poacher's pocket in the manner of a conjuror's rabbit. It went bonkers in there. I was trying to fish it out when its owner appeared and gave me a look (lady look
). 'What are you doing with my dog?'
'It jumped into my pocket,' I said (unconvincingly. 'I have sausages in there.'
'Well get him out!!!'
Out he came with a maw full of my venison sausage.
I said, 'Well you may as well keep them' and legged it.
I had my heart set on those so I went back to the butcher and said, 'A pound of venison sausage please' (£3.20 a pound ,mark you
)
'Sorry, he said, we don't have many and I just sold the lastlot to... to you'
'They were eaten by a dog,' I explained.
He tried to look sympathetic, so did the spotty youth. But they failed.
They both pissed themselves.
I left
