Wednesday, 25 April 2012


"What happened to Mister Simms?" asked Robinson, with a gleeful grin at Mane, who lowered his drink slowly.
"Who's Mister Simms?" inquired the young raver.
"He runs the other sweet shop in the town," answered Robinson. "Only I think it's a chain, because I'm pretty sure his name isn't Simms really."
"He's a corporate liar," rasped Mane.
Everyone stopped chatting, although the rest of the faceless masses in the pub continued with their inane banter.
"Why?" I asked, which was clearly a mistake.
"Well, I applied for a job there," said Mane. "He had all my details. I gave him all the contact and work history stuff I could; I even gave him loads more stuff... anyway, I called up and he said he'd call back. He didn't. I called about three times..." He took a breath. "...and then he opened. I went in there, right, and all the people he'd hired were pretty young girls! I'm pretty sure that's discrimination!"
Everyone grinned evilly.
"You know," said my friend-who-is-a-teacher slowly, "you may not have given him exactly what he wanted..."
"Like what?"
"He may have wanted to see your... you know... your humbugs."
There was a ripple of laughter.
"Humbugs? Surely they're more like Sally Lunn buns?"
"Fresh cream ├ęclairs?"
"I'm not sure," pitched in Robinson. "Maybe he'd rather have seen your liquorice wand."
"Sherbet straw?"
"Strawberry lace?"
It's amazing how these things get started.

1 comment:

ladypandorah said...

Hah! Brilliant!

LP x