I'm in the Spar stoooooo* this morning buying myself a bacon and sausage sandwich and in the queue before me stands an old hippy bloke. "It's Willie Nelson," says I. Whether or not I said this out loud I'm not sure.He's sporting a headband, flares, sandals and smells unpleasant. I wasn't able to see what he was purchasing so I'll assume it was some Rizlas and a tube of Pringles.
I'm right behind him as we exit the place and I'm assuming he's going to either climb onto an old bicycle with a CND flag or one of those gayers rainbow flags attached to it somewhere, or a VW camper van. But no.
The devil be my witness he climbs into the passenger side of a turquoise Peugeot 206, by Gad! Driven no less, by a woman baring an uncanny resemblance to Annette Crosbie from One foot in the Grave.
"How have they got together?" says I, definitely out loud this time. "No wait," I continued. "How have they stayed together?"They probably met at a peace march somewhere during the Vietnam war, but it was just a phase for her. She knits now and reads the Daily Mail, but he has remained true to his cause. Or, I concluded, she is his carer and he's just a mentalist.
*I began pronouncing "store" "STOW" some time ago. You know, like an African American, the gangster types. It's become second nature now even in my prose.
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