... and there was this good old boy digging up potatoes. He noticed me approaching, straightened his wizened spine and lent on the handle of his spade. He peered at me below his wide brimmed hat and scratched his chin...
"Fuck off kid!", he announced in a semi-angry voice. From within the folds of his cardigan he took out a serrated knife.
I'd seen/heard enough. I left sharpish, remembering that I was meant to go to Salisbury's and I wasn't sure what I was doing at the allotments! I could hear the old man laughing at my retreating back...
The joke's on him, though... I made a mental note to go back and take a shit on his Spinach patch. That'll learn the sour codger. While I'm there, I'll probably kill the Sparrows and Robins that visit him. Cunt!
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