... a mere two hours late, I get the call.
Was it worth waiting for?
Not really - a mere forty mince tarts and one tray of ginger shortbread for Friday. I can understand he wants to make sure the stuff will sell, and I suppose it gives me an easy order to get under my belt - but I really hope those numbers are going to increase pretty rapidly. In fact I suggest you go along to Central Bean on Saturday and eat the lot - then he'll have to order more!
LILY & ROSE
Here are some photos of Lily & Rose. There are a few from the first time we saw them when they were just 4 weeks old. They would fit on your hand at this age and didn't look much like westies!
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I can picture the scene. You take 'em in. The music stops as you kick open the swinging doors. The customers look at you, cups paused at lips...You walk, slowly to the bar, boot spurs clinking with each deliberate footfall....you SLAM the tray down onto the bar and the mince pies leap temporarily out of their casings. When the dusting settles you slide it along to the other end of the bar and the bartender halts it. Without casting a glance sidewards, you order a whiskey and throw back the first shot telling the bartender to leave the bottle. You fix your gaze at the shot glass until you hear Dave's voice coming from out the backroom. He wanders brightly but slows up as he feels your brooding presence and eventually sets eyes upon your crouched figure hunched over the bar, elbows pointed towards the bottle and one booted foot on the foot bar. You slowly raise your head turning to face him square on looking up from under the brim of your hat while chewing on an unlighted cheroot and moving it to the other side of your mouth. He stares at you nervously and the awkward silence in the saloon continues for what seems like an eternity to the punters who are hardly daring to breathe. You walk up to him and strike a match down the stubbled side of his unshaven face, draw deeply on the cheroot and blow a long plume of acrid smoke directly into his frightened, shamed, face. You ask him in a quietly threatening husky snarl what the in the hell he thinks he's doing treatin' you like cow dirt. He stutters "It's a living" to which you coolly reply "Dyin' ain't much of a livin' boy"
ReplyDeleteWhat can I possibly reply to that!
ReplyDeleteBrilliant. I love it!