I closed the mobile. Click; and put it back in my pocket. “’ere you go my love.” Frank passed me the flannel. “I think you are going to


have to change my pad my love. A bit of an accident. I’m sorry, it’s a bit embarrassing.” But I understood and told him that it was all right.


“It’s all right Frank, I understand.”


Outside the curtain, the cleaner pushed the mop back and forth over the square tiled floor, released the mop head into a dirty bag attached to a trolley filled with cleaning products and new mop heads, kicked the break clips on the wheels and pushed the trolley out through the double doors into the corridor.


Jon Dve h ais Supermarket Wars


The supermarket soldiers march up and down my street. Coming from town, it’s the orange bag brigade, The other way, march the loyal Tescovian clan.


“Tesco shite this way” is the daring graffiti my end. No-one’s lowered themselves like that on the Sainsbury side - yet. I’m basically a Tesco man – more down to earth, And at least in the City Road branch, prettier check out girls. Sainsbury for me is too middle class, too up-its-own-arse, too Jamie Oliver.


One of these days, they’re gonna meet in the middle - a mass food fight. There could yet be blood, or ketchup, spilled in the supermarket wars.


Living Off the State


Mad people get paid Quite a lot by the state. So does the Queen.


13


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