Assia Wipe approached a market stall in The Oval.
“Want me to mind the stall? It won’t be for too long cos I’m due for interview for the post of Secretary General of the UN at eleven”
“So the job at the Laundrette didn’t work out for you then?”
“Naw, I couldn’t add up.”
“OK, but watch out for those vegetables – especially the green beans, they’re liable to do a runner.”
“Boss, what are you going purple for, are you angry again?”
As Frew Saga slumped to the well apportioned floor.
“I saw you with that slip of a lass last night, where is she now?”
“Wasn’t up to it. I’ve left her folded up in bed.”
“You do right, she were a bit of a pin up but a bit two dimensional for my liking.”
“Fancy a pint?”
“Yeah, why not, I haven’t had a job or claimed Job Seekers in years, so I’m a bit short. And don’t say I’ve always been 5 foot three cause I’m not in the mood – I feel a tragedy coming on.”
“That is funny, so do I.”
“You can’t be having a kid to Santa Claus, ‘e doesn’t bleedin’ well exist.”
Between the sobbing, Beryl, just celebrated being born yesterday and was pencil-thin since her spell with the stupid cult that wouldn’t allow food to pass her lips unless in severe slow-motion – chirped up:
“What ‘e had in ‘is sack was real enough, and I think I love ‘im and it doesn’t matter that you don’t believe in ‘im I do.”
Her step-mother four times removed (usually for soliciting last wills and testaments to passers-by) plucked at her hair and wailed as just at that moment the Christmas dirge rang out; ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’.
Back in The Vitreous Enamel, a group were enjoying the benefit of Olive Lamp’s recent misfortunes with electricity: she could now receive Freeview programmes if she plugged her finger into a co-axial antenna outlet. An external screen was still required -she wasn’t a Teletubby after all – but the reception was very High Definition.