So, anyway, there I was residing in exactly the same pair of trousers you see me wearing now, armed only with an A-Z of Droitwich, a hatstand and a cheese salad baguette that had - frankly – seen better days. Just when those days were it was hard to tell, cheese baguettes are noticeably reticent about the days of their misspent youth spent hanging around in the sandwich shops with other sandwiches of ill-repute and getting up to all sorts of mischief with the condiments. However, that is a tale for another day, and – hopefully – a more snack-based anecdote compatible pair of trousers.
Anyway, there I was and yes in these very trousers. I had my hatstand ready, but few of the natives seemed wiling to approach me. They could see I had my A-Z open and they could tell from the look in my eyes that I was not afraid to consult it.
Of course, this was back in the days before smartphones, satnavs and all the other gizmotronic wizardry of the modern age – hence the hatstand, I suppose. Therefore all I had to rely on was the A-Z and my native wit and cunning. Of course, being Droitwich, the natives were very wary of approaching someone with a Cheese Baguette; they had no doubt heard of the strange magic of the five-a-day co-ordinators and their mystical worship of the powers of the salad and were mighty afeared.
Consequently, I was able to wield my hatstand with impunity as I made my way down the High Street, but, even then, I knew the Cheese baguette would not hold back the natives for long. Therefore, I soon found the car park where I had cunningly hidden my getaway vehicle, and so I made good my escape.
Luckily I got away with only the slight loss of some lettuce, a slice of cucumber and a slight gnawing to the base of the hatstand where I had rather incautiously let one of the natives get to close to me while I was perusing my A-Z. Still, as they say you ‘live and learn’ and I knew next time I returned to that town I would be far more careful, both with my cheese salad baguette and with my hatstand.