Just before I left the cafe for my walk home, The Dreaded One phoned and asked what I felt like for dinner. I said I feel like sausages and mash and pea crush and offered to pick up some nice sausages from the new gourmet meat shop on Smith Street. Sounds good, said The Dreaded One.My walks home generally involve a lot of head la la la-ing. I just let my mind off the leash and it wafts about in the clouds and tells me all sorts of random things. I wasn't really thinking about the sausages until a woman walked by with two sausage dogs. Talk about a sign from the universe. The sausage dogs were sent as a reminder for me to not forget to pick up the sausages from the new gourmet sausage shop (which, you'll be interested to know, is owned by our cafe's neighbour, restaurateur Andrew McConnell, aka The Godfather Of Gertrude Street, aka Toasty Guy because he only ever buys our ham, cheese and tomato toasties).
I keep walking because the sausage shop is just up ahead. Just a little bit further along. Couple of doors up... I'm running out of this block and I'm certain the sausage shop is not on the next block...
I stop and scratch my head, the suspicion growing that I have walked completely past the sausage shop.
A car honks its horn. I turn around. It's The Dreaded One, sitting in bumper to bumper traffic.What are the chances? She waves to me. I step onto the road and open the door and ask her where in the hell is the new sausage shop. She tells me it's way back up the road and that I have walked completely past it. She laughs like this is the funniest thing that has happened all afternoon. Funny and totally typical all at once.
I walk back up the road and weirdly, the lady with the two sausage dogs is standing right outside the sausage shop.
And that's my story about sausages.
