An English In Kentucky


















July 10th  2011    Tim Candler

    Today is the big day.  I am going into town.  I'll wear the long trousers, and I will shave, and I will put a bandage over the weeping sore on my finger. I need to buy two and half inch screws, petrol for mowing machines and I think I deserve ice-cream.  Should take me around two hours.

    I do so hope there are no "ten for ten dollar" deals on chocolate bars.  And for political reasons I will try to avoid that particular aisle in the grocery store by repeating "more and more is good for business."  When this fails I'll tell myself, "The wealthy will only be rich enough when poor people die at around fifty years of age."  And by the time I reach the rows and rows of refrigerators my mental condition should be such that I will trolley past the ice-creams with my nose in the air.

     But, by the time I reach the line at check out, I'll be too encircled and I'll start thinking of whiskey over ice cubes and how nice it would be to find myself unconscious if only for a while.   So then I'll have to go and get ten bars of chocolate and I know I can make space in the freezer at home for at least ten gallons of ice cream and I might even spend time looking at bacon without hearing Pigs squeal or meat roasting or smell gravy over Potato.

      Of course I could avoid the grocery store altogether by pretending to visit the "Basic Shop".  It's a heavenly place with an equality of choice.  It's without the angst of servitude.  And there are no complicated recipes for Zucchini and Squash.  

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