I had a moment of weirdness in the corner shop today. I ventured in due to a somewhat unfamiliar urge for an apple-based soft-drink. I looked in the fridges but to no avail, so I went to the counter to enquire. As I waited behind a little old dear spending her pension on scratchcards, it dawned on me that the shopkeeper looked just like Freddy Mercury. When he asked how he could help, I subconsciously spouted...
'Scaramoosh, scaramoosh, do you sell apple Tango?'
There was an awkward silence. Then he replied...
'Bismillah nooooo, we do not sell Tango!(No Tangooo!)Bismillah nooooo, we do not sell Tango!(No Tangooo!)Bismillah nooooo, we do not sell Tango, do not sell Tango, do not sell Tango, magnificoooo, no no no no nor Vimto!'
Outwitted, and with a growing queue forming behind me, I sorely needed to retort...
'I'm just a poor boy who's very thirstyyyy...'
Growing queue in harmonised unison: 'He's just an arsehole, throw him out, serve me? Save us this unwanted longevityyyy'
Dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink...
Shopkeeper: 'Easy come, easy go, should I let him go?'
Growing queue in increasingly menacing harmonised unison: 'Bismilah nooooo, we should not let him go!'
Me: 'Mamma mia, mamma mia, mamma mia let me go?'
Then I woke up screaming. It had all been a dream after dozing off on the settee. Setteeeee. Setteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Drff, dernurmdernurmdernurmder, dernurmderdedlenurmmmmm...
Blind Billy the pickled egg. Unwitting inventor of the party-snack.
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