All through yesterday, and the evening before when the plans for this were put into motion, I was very much looking forward to visiting our local Morrison’s and reducing their stock of cooked, hot chickens by one and taking it proudly home to The Jennifer for us to consume in-between actual and proper glugs of ale and cider.
I did purchase some mead also but this got forgotten somehow and the gods of the alcoholic beverage aisle must never know. They must never know of this.
The Bus Lords had already decreed that they would carry me no farther than at least two stops before my required destination and so I arrived at the ‘Morrisonian Institute For Bits ‘n’ Bobs ‘n’ Whatnots’ somewhat damper, thanks to the weather imps, and +1 grumpier.
I waited patiently for the people in front of me to pick up a basket and stand there in a daze for a while before I gave in and cast a haste spell upon their backsides. I eventually marched weavefully around until the populace allowed me access to the counter I desired to reach.
It was empty but for one scrawny ex-poultry, crisped under the heat of the Lamps of Desolation for around 87 hours, I calculated. With not much in the way of any other options at all, I remarked that I would like to obtain the sad wretch and the man looked at me for a moment, his mind working out how human communication worked as he had apparently forgotten, or not had that information downloaded into his brain drive yet, before he picked up his tongs and LUNGED!
I almost jumped back but remembered the curved, transparent shield that protected us from such attacks and watched, fascinated, as he utterly failed to pick the damn thing up.
Again and again he attempted to grasp the poor, dead, crisp, vaguely chickenesqe remnants and again and again he failed, getting faster and more desperate and it looked for all the world like he’d suddenly figured out who had killed his entire family and it was this evil, fowl creature before him.
But then… “Oh, look. The wing has fallen off,” he told me and asked if I really wanted it anyway.
I nodded dumbstruck, my mind perplexed and concerned, and suddenly the chicken was bagged.
I went to the pub after that, was quite nice.