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Sunday, September 29, 2013

Why have common sense and goodwill gone to the dogs?

                              Pinky and "Someone"

It was a gorgeous, breezy, sunny day. Pinky was excited; she and Scotto had made a date with “Someone” to go for a laidback lunch at a casual eatery in town in order to celebrate the recent anniversary of “Someone’s” day of birth.

“Someone” appeared at Pinky’s door looking not a small bit green around the gills. Apparently “Someone” had been heavily on the turps the previous night revelling in observation of the same commemoration.

“Are you sure you want to go to lunch today?” asked a cynical Pinky. “You don’t look very well… we can make it another time…”

“I’ll be right!” “Someone” slurred, its eyes glazed over with the appearance of hungover zombification.

The three of them; Scotto, Pinky and “Someone” ordered their food at the restaurant. “Someone” sat with its head in its hands, groaning occasionally and squinting painfully in the light.

When the delicious food arrived onto the table, Pinky and Scotto tucked in like sailors on shore leave but “Someone” merely picked at its pizza like a sick kitten.

It seemed that “Someone” was too poorly to chew and swallow.

“Why don’t we go and have a hair of the dog down the road?” suggested a tremulous “Someone” looking decidedly off-colour and pressing its temples firmly with a glass of ice. 

“I’ll take this pizza to go…”

So off they went down the yellow brick road, boxed pizza tucked under "Someone's" arm.

As soon as the three adventurers entered the premises, Pinky, alert to random hostility, perceived the Duty Manager staring intently at the trio; the hirsute and meaty Duty Manager who resembled a trendy golf playing Hagrid.

Scotto was dispensed immediately to acquire drinks while Pinky and the fragile “Someone” settled comfortably into a window seat.

Within two minutes Pinky espied the burly Duty Manager whispering into the ear of his stringy minion.

“Oh crap, here we go!” hissed Pinky, watching the minion pompously approaching their table out of the corner of her beady eye.

“I know we can’t bring food in but we’re not eating it… see! It’s still in the box! We can’t leave it in the car or it’ll go off!”
asserted Pinky, before the messenger could open his supercilious mouth.
“You can’t have food here. You’ll have to leave…” officiated the minion in a robotic bleat.

“Could you please just put it in the fridge for us?” blurted out a silly, silly Pinky, forgetting that this wasn’t the eighties when everyone was still reasonable and nice about things.

Suddenly Scotto made a timely entrance jovially juggling three drinks in his hands.

“We have to go,” announced Pinky, in the most scandalised tone she was able to muster.

“But I’ve just paid for the drinks!” exclaimed Scotto, shocked at the dramatic proceedings unfolding.

“What if I put the pizza box in the garden bed outside this window? Then it’s not ACTUALLY inside the premises…” ventured sharp-witted Pinky, channelling brilliant barrister Geoffery Robertson QC.

“Well…” simpered the minion. “I suppose technically you’re right.”

So the pizza box rested in the garden bed for the next fifteen minutes whilst the trio enjoyed their ice cold, refreshing beverages.

Pinky 1: Bureaucracy 0


When the three 'conscientious objectors' finally retrieved the pizza box it was riddled with ants and “Someone” was observed grumpily throwing it into the wheelie bin as he walked to his front door after being dropped home… but it’s the principle that counts.

Young men may know the rules but old women know the exceptions!