I came home for lunch today, having forgotten my wallet. My favourite restaurant would have been happy to put lunch on my account, I’m sure, but something drew me home.
It was no real surprise then, to find our landlord, one of the most respected men in the country, chopping meat in our car park. Their little white dog sat nearby, staring up at the results of the day’s work, now hanging from a makeshift scaffold to dry.
Until I came down with the camera, that is, when the blighter showed no interest in the meat at all.