No want of reason just yet

As the purpose to sustain buoys in the flow

To purloin the parlance of constant and steady,

Not to be confused with Jack Palance, ever at the ready.

A sure bet, just like that horse that fulfils its promised form

Even as a longshot, rekindling faith in sinking beneath

The plimsoll line of self on a heavy track.

Nothing for it but to revisit Danny Boy’s and try not to feel

So maudlin for no apparent reason beneath the petty sun

As consolation for a public holiday.

Snap out of it…

Need to make preparation, if not reparations.

Dosh? Check.

Nosh? Can wait for later.

Must remember to go by that posh excuse for a supermarket, as

The deli makes a proper quiche.

No real list required, although a mental note for possibly chutney.

Now, where did I put my glasses? Hah! Right here on me greying noggin.

Quick consult of the elements through the ultimate portal for the undeniable.

A late spring ensemble will do: walking shorts, sandals and heraldic fleecy over

A finely appointed flannie. Ponytail will have to do.

The beret makes me seem too quaint in the scheme of things

And the deerstalker plays havoc with my in-built compass.

Calico bag? Check.

Pouch tobacco and matches? Check.

Paperback in case of emergencies? Check.

Word of the day: amanuensis.

Sounds like a dessert only an amnesiac could recall.

Now, mode of transport? A walk there and taxi back again.

Soon to be transported beyond the need for bland, decent formality.

Simply to provide for the essential humanity.

No time for defeatist sentimentality.

Only got until five before closing.

Right, now on with it…

Nothing like making good time.

Not bad going considering the squelchy conditions under foot,

Almost like having my blinkers on, no time for observational reflections.

Right, down to business.

It’s Sloe Gin time again…

And, then the Grey Goose ‘ll do the trick.

Always makes me feel like a gamekeeper,

Even without a Holmesian get-up.

I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. Never be ashamed.

Well put, Hagrid.

Nothing like a J.K. Rowling moment to set you straight.

Don’t mind a bit of Coltrane, either - John not Robbie.

Maybe some spice infused rum just in case.

Two of each for an easy half dozen.

This trolley has a wonky wheel – doesn’t help in the slightest.

There’s a regular.

Reminds me of someone. Always seems very considered in his selection.

I could swear I’ve seen him with a toddler in tow, though today he’s freed up

To embrace another calling.

Sweet kid. She always has a big grin on her.

I wonder what he reads to her at night. A little young for wizards.

He seems a bit occupied. A beer and wine man, eh?

I’m sure I’ve seen him at the Dog or Harp in passing.

Maybe I should also opt for some vino veritas?

Don’t want to make another run for until at least the weekend.

This first Tuesday in November seems to auger well.

Or ogre if feeling gnarly.

Let’s see, two whites, two roses, two pinots and two shirazes.

I should have brought back up bags.

Maybe home delivery could be an option in the future…

Three parts gin, one-part vermouth

Throw caution to the wind and conformeth,

But not before the ice man cometh,

Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm…

Cashier awaits!

Please don’t ask me how I am.

Just nod and smile.

“Having a party, are we?”

Oh, here we go.

“Yes, you could say that.”

“Did you have a big win at the Cup?”

“Of sorts, of sorts.”

“You must have a knack for it.”

I’ll cart you off to the knackery for your insolence.

“I think you might need more than a carry bag this time round.”

You can’t be more than 21. Pains me to say I could be your father.

“Yes, a couple of boxes will be fine. I’ll wheel them out in the trolley”

********

Hah! Here’s the regular. Wonder what he’s opted for this time.

The usual plus some wine. Now that’s a decent haul.

How the hell can he afford it? It’s like it’s a 1999 party windfall every week.

Seems like a character, although a little unassuming, reserved.

No wonder he has a hankering for the Penfolds Bin Reserve.

Wonder where he got that vintage Leica camera case?

Bet he’s a twitcher. Bird watching, no what I mean?

No way. It’s his man bag!

A wallet couldn’t cope with so many rolls, let alone wads of cash.

Bless his sandaled blisters.

Bet he drives an old Jag.

How does he always make such a quick getaway?

Seems to disappear as soon as he sets foot out the door.

Bet he has another side?

Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf, Virginia Wolf…

********

Ringing ahead for the taxi is the way to go.

Saves on time before I get to bend the elbow.

Well, that cost more than I thought.

That bloody wine.

You’d think they’d welcome me with open arms

The amount of custom I send their way.

Ingrate Ned at register 5.

The young ladies are far more accommodating.

They’re lucky I don’t wear a name tag.

No excuses for not addressing me by birth.

Here’s the cab, right on cue.

Now to pop the boot, ditch the trolley

And I’m home and hosed.

Rather than home and dry.

“Thanks driver. Strathalbyn Street, East Kew.”

I always take the front seat for the sake of equality.

That way I can get a good look at the ID in case of any

Irregularity.

Keep the conversation to a minimum – the weather, sport

And best-laid plans for the unholy state of matrimony.

Good luck and fuck a duck!

“Here’s a 50 and keep the change. Into the drive driver,

If you’d be so kind. As close to the porch to unload.”

To the everlasting equanimity of the equine fail-safe fate.

Which reminds me, I must do something about this gate.

Shades of dilapidation scorn the conquering hero.

I suppose I had better get Jim in to tidy up a bit.

Yes, I think home delivery is the option, purely to distil

The modern shopping experience and reduce the loss of valuable time.

Everything in advance of the top-shelf self.

Now, where was I?

Michael Haward