hannett.net

I left this house morning to sign-on in Banbury (I am dole-scum no longer though; I completely signed off). As I was leaving the drive one of the local sprogs got off his tricycle and asked me the usual questions.
“Where ya goin’?” he asked.
“I’m going to Banbury,” I reply.
“Whyyyy?” he droned in that annoying tone that kids specialise in.
“I’ve got an interview there. I have to be going now. Bye!”
He then says something but I can’t quite make it out through his mumbling and yokel accent so I simply say goodbye again.
“Oi, stupid-head!” he shouts at me. I turn round, naturally, only to see him giving me the finger. A four-year old boy giving someone the finger. He’ll go far with that attitude.

For lunch I decided to go to KFC. Word of mouth and sumptuous-looking posters meant that I had to try their new Daddy Burger. I ordered the meal without incident and Tristan and I were able to find a seat without too much trouble. The problem came when I opened the burger box. The bun was cold (straight-out-of-the-fridge cold too), but that’s no big deal. No, what I really had a problem with was the cold, slimy, light pink bacon. This just wouldn’t do. I took it back to the counter.
“Hi. This burger you just sold me – the bacon is raw. Look, it’s raw,” I said, pointing to the bacon.
“Is no raw, is bacon”, was the reply I received. Err…
“No, I mean the bacon is raw. It’s not cooked.”
“Oh. OK. I’ll have a look at it.”
She takes it over behind the burger dispenser thing and the three of them gather round and quietly discuss the burger. Then she comes back with a smile on her face.
“Is smoked bacon. We have given you some more”
I just didn’t feel like arguing more. I could be wrong. It could be like Gazpacho soup and I’d look like some uncouth yob demanding my fillet mignon to be cooked extra well-done
“Thank-you,” I said and sat back down with Tristan. I picked the bacon out and ate the burger. It was very nice, though it had no Daddies sauce in it.