Where everyone knows your name

Hard not to snap back to good humour when you go into Yagnub. Helped by the westerly wind behind me, I pedalled hard up the hill by the post office and was puffing a bit as Penny crossed the road in front of me. “I’m slow, you’ve plenty of time,” I called. “Mind that hip!” she returned. I went into the butcher and asked for thick sirloin steaks. Adrian remarked that the Sage had enjoyed the meat he’d bought himself for his lunch the other day (he’d been eating fish or veggie all week and maybe felt a little deprived). I said that he’d offered to share, but I’d already cut a lovely artichoke from the garden. Tracy in the bakery started to put my rolls in a bag and then said “Ooh, better not, Alex wouldn’t like it!” I agreed, and said I’d get the blame. “Mind you don’t drop them as you cross the road.” “If I do, that’ll be Al’s fault.”

I went along to the library – I forgot that I’d been in last time on a Friday, so I had a 75p fine to pay – and stocked up on canvas bags for Al, who sells them at cost price in the shop. Then I went back and picked up some lovely local lettuces, Webbs Wonder and Cos, for tonight and chatted to several customers, including Penny who had worked her way round town and was getting her heavy vegetables last. An elderly car was parked on the yellow line and the traffic warden was standing there. “That’s Bill’s car,” said Al. “I know,” he said. “Go on, then, give ‘im a ticket!” The warden grinned. “I’ve warned him often enough.” “He’s in the butcher, he’ll be out as soon as he spots you.” Bill saw him and he shot out and into the car. “I have told you, you know, this’ll have to be a final warning.” Bill didn’t believe him, you could see. “You’re parked on the pavement drop too, for wheelchairs, that’s worse than just the yellow line,” I said and, to the warden, “You’re a good, kind man.” “Hm, up to a point…” he replied. “I’m not buttering you up, I’m on my bike,” and he grinned at me.

There’s a link I want to put in to a newspaper article, but the EDP’s search is really quite poor and I’ve never found out how to find a particular thing I need to find. The town and the person and the date doesn’t do it – I’ll have to have another try later. I must go now to fetch my girly and her chap from the station.

Later The local paper only puts in headline news on the day, you have to pay for an e-edition to get the whole of the paper’s contents, which is all right, because the article was in yesterday. But it doesn’t seem to be there yet. Maybe they don’t update at weekends.

11 comments on “Where everyone knows your name

  1. Z

    I don’t know if you’ve met her, Dave – a well-known writer who is one of Al’s customers. No, I think the smartest people turn down honours, don’t they?

    Next, Id, you’ll be suggesting that I base myself on Mrs Honeyman, who never stops talking.

    People are so thoughtful, Girl. I think I wrote a few months ago that Penny told me people brought in cards on the anniversary of the date when her boss was killed in a road crash, to let her know they remembered and cared.

  2. Eddie 2-Sox

    Hmmm, I visit the comments page to say “You are living in Camberwicj Green, not Norfolk” and find that someone else has put forward the same theory already.

    Which means that it is actually true. Probably.

    King’s Lynn is less like Chigley and more like Brookside. Even though some people insist it’s Norfolk’s Soweto.

    Frankly, anywhere in Norfolk is not bad.

  3. Z

    Of course, Brian Cant, the narrator, was a Suffolk man, but we don’t hold that against him – I grew up in Suffolk myself.

    LZM – thanks, sweetie xx


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