ack on my own manor, I sometimes have a word with myself about it, and cringe. I mean, it wasn’t exactly emigrating, just a temporary change of scene: a short shufti at how the other half earns a crust, that’s all. I have to tell you, there’s some really weird people out there!
I used to do a scam down Pettycoat Lane, nothing leery. You know! The bloke who shouts things like: “Not thirty quid, not twenty-five, not even twenty—-” that old Jackson Pollocks. I sold ‘iffy’ gear from the back of a van, with the engine running, before