Feed the birds...

Every Friday morning, in sun, rain, wind or meteorological maelstrom, my dear friend Mrs H (the Italian one) and I head down to the local market.  A veritable smorgasbord of fruit, vegetables, flowers, bread and cakes, cheeses, pet food and gift cards and wrapping.  There is also a stall selling clothing (most of which is made from crimplene with an elasticated waistband.  As Mrs H has standards (if she were a stick of rock, it would say 'Glamour Puss' all the way through it) we tend to walk past this stall rather swiftly, with eyes left, towards the wrapping paper and sellotape.

Last Friday, she baled on me (something to do with work, so I'll let her off).  I was late going in on Friday, something I blame on an engineer who was coming to my house to sort my oven out.  'He'll be with you between 8.00-10.00', the lovely receptionist told me.  Well, I think we all know what that means, and after one hour and fifty three minutes of twiddling my thumbs, he finally turned up. Pulling my oven away from the wall, my face turned as red as an over ripe tomato.  There was enough food detritus down the back to feed a family of four for three days.  Looking at my embarrassment, he nodded with a 'seen it all before' look.  'Shows that you use the oven though'.

So I was late.  Walking towards the town, empty bags in hand, I stopped to allow a lovely couple through on the pavement.  The gentleman was pushing his wife in a wheelchair, and as they got closer to me, the old boy said, 'I've got a heavy load here'.  Of course, looking at the delicate little lady who was covered from neck to toe in tartan blanket, I assumed he was referring to the shopping hanging off the back.  'The Bird Seed Man isn't there today', he said.  'My feathered friends will be going hungry this week'.

And this set me thinking.

I have never called the pet shop owner the Bird Seed Man, nor the Dog Chew Chap, the Fish Food Fella or the Squeaky Toy Man. He has never been referred to as the Gravy Bone Gent, the Peanut Guy or the Cat Bed Bloke.

 .

The only thing I buy from him each week are those round suet balls for my bird feeder.

I'll let your imagination work out the rest...