Back in the days when the BOF still had hair, he fell in with a rum crew - twilight people living on the murky edge. Ending up for no good reason in a west country town one day, hungry, thirsty, but without money, a raid was planned. It required a supermarket with a tobacco counter next to the exit - not unusual.
The trolley brimmed with victuals: steaks, champagnes, pates, chickens, spirits, wines, avocados (they had only recently ceased to be exotic). When it could take no more, the raid-leader advanced on the tobacco counter. He had previously instructed the BOF to find a product so little in demand that it did not merit display space, and he had selected an expensive cigar, spied at floor level behind the counter.
He duly requested the tube. The assistant turned and bent down, thus losing sight of the trolley which immediately vacated the store and proceeded at speed to a waiting car. A sumptuous feast followed, all for free - it only took a little nerve.
So, Nanny, think it through. Hard times, hidden cigs, larceny rampant, and all your fault. Tsk, tsk...
No comments:
Post a Comment