Mr binkly is a remarkable man, with remarkable insight. How he earns his living cutting up meat and making sausages is beyond me, but make it he does. He provides one of the few anchors to ordinary people I have.
"You want some sausages then you old Queen?" he ventured, as I entered the shop "Yes. Sausages are my intended purchase" I parried "What you want then queer boy? Lamb? Pork? Spicy mix? I bet you like a spicy sausage in your mouth, don't you, you faggot" he rallied "No, I prefer a nice pork tonight" I vollied back "You shitbag" he instantly replied "and don't think I haven't forgotten about your slate, you shirtlifter" he returns, faultless in his delivery "Yes, I'll settle that today" I smash back over the net. Game set and match. He clearly has no answer as he wipes his nose on some paper and then wraps up my sausages. I love ordinary people.
Of course, no sausage based tea would be complete without veg. And I have a good rapport with my greengrocer, who affectionately refers to me as "you fucking bastard".
and so on.
Once home, I unwrap my sausages and quiz them for a full half an hour about the future. should I go there, thence or thither? Silently they mull over my entreaty, until finall my stomach rumbled the answer. Syncronicity is a wonderful thing. On then, with the grill.
I'll ring Sandy and tell about my sausage.
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