I went down to the village yesterday.
I usually go down on a Tuesday partly out of habit and partly because that is around the time of week when Herself runs low on fags. I did my usual round of the shops picking up various items, and having shop staff running after me as I have forgotten to pick up what I have just bought.
Naturally I headed for the coffee shop.
Coincidentally, Tuesday also seems to be a time for my two pals in the village to have a break too. One owns the coffee shop and the other owns the grocery. The three of us generally just sit there quietly supping coffees and enjoying a smoke or three. Occasionally there will be a bit of banter, or gossip and it is a very relaxing time.
Sure enough, there were the lads so I joined them at the table. The Merry Widow was there too but sat on her own at the next table, not that that stopped her throwing lengthy stories at us. She loves talking, usually about herself. We sat and listened, enjoying the October sunshine and did the odd grunt or nod of the head to show that we [weren’t] listening.
One of the staff came out of the shop and looked at us. “Jayzus” said she. “It’s like The Last of the Summer Wine out here.”
She had a point. The three of us had a chuckle. But then came the dilemma – which of us was Foggy, who was Clegg and who was Compo?
I wonder if the Merry Widow wears baggy stockings?