Picture the scene: Morrisons, 8.45am Saturday morning. Too early for most so that is why Huttonian is there. Only two checkouts operating -that is the flip side of going at Sparrow Puke; (the early bird swallowed a bad worm) A commotion - a heavily tattooed, hirsute, stomach bulging through upwardly mobile grey vest, caravanner charging the checkout with a case of Heinikens under each sweaty armpit. He brushes aside two dear old things and flings down the cases onto the counter top drawing his wallet with some difficulty from his buttock enhanced jean's pocket. A man with a mission and in a hurry. The check out lad with the stammer, trembling with barely suppressed emotion, asked this colusus 'Sir-you dddddo realise that this is the non aaaaaaa (tries again) aaaalcholoc variety'?
Sir didn't.
A veil is drawn over the ensuing scene.
And as the Checkout lad mentioned to me as he lovingly plastic bagged my modest purchases:
'Its nnnnice to start the day with a gggood ggggg(tries again)gggggggigle!'
It is.
