You know how when you get a prescription from the doctor and it’s just a scribble, but the pharmacist knows what it says, and they give you the right stuff, except that these days the prescription is printed from a computer, so that piece of observational comedy is irrelevant?
Well, when you order a takeaway curry to be delivered, and it comes in those foil trays, with card lids with the same scribbles on them to supposedly differentiate, for example, your Lamb Hyderabadi from your generous host’s Lamb Razalla, but the only word readable is ‘La……’, I don’t think it’s surprising that mistakes are sometimes made. The trays get mixed up. Someone who didn’t order hot and tasty Lamb Razalla may end up eating it, while the host, whose beer you are drinking, ends up eating the other, less appetising dish, because he was stuck upstairs getting his daughter to sleep.
Sorry, Paul. Great to see you, Colleen and Roxy at the weekend though.
On the lighter side of the news, Shuggie is getting used to long walks on Tooting Bec Common on Sunday afternoons. To illustrate the fun we have, here’s my route marked on a map. Blimey, that’s under a mile. Now, for comparison, here’s Shuggies. Spot the difference.
While we were walking past the footbal fields, Shuggie decided to ‘ease his heavy load’ on the grass. Not a problem, out comes a plastic bag, there’s a dog bin nearby. As I stand up to tie the now-full bag up, I notice that someone I recall seeing on the train platform at Tooting a lot has just taken a photo of – what? Shuggie doing his “ostensibly-covering-up-the-poo-but-actually-just-dancing” dance? Me being conscientious and clearing it up? Or my bum as I bend over? I THINK WE SHOULD BE TOLD. Apart from anything else, Shuggie doesn’t get out of bed for less than £10K, top model that he is, so I want my 40% commission.