I have just spent an enjoyable afternoon in Clarence Park watching some bands in the sun with Mr Oliver of H, aged 6 and a bit. It was a chance meeting. He had brought with him a rather large sausage roll on which I commented. Having sought counsel with The Minister of Sausage Rolls, MrO secured me a whole half of one of these stupendous beings in exchange for a present (his spies must have seen the gift presented to his sister in rapture of her cat sitting duties). I agreed, whilst complimenting him on his Dr Who sunglasses.
With our new political relations on a high MrO requested the use of our spare chair, vacated not long before by TheManBoy. I gladly offered said chair and MrO made himself comfortable ready for the next band. A popular band it would seem, with hordes of teen-fans with much hair. They pranced and danced. They moshed, and some fell over. MrO was perplexed by this mass of hairy bodies. He could scarcely believe his eyes. We debated, and concluded they were crazy people. Something had probably taken them over. They would be okay in a while though.
Abruptly MrO had to take his leave for a few moments on a matter of urgency (biscuits) and left me in charge of overseeing The (now his) Chair. I was tasked with ensuring it remain for him only, and no other should grace its comforting bum groove. I did well. Till I forgot. And when MrO returned (with biscuit) TheManBoy had launched a full hostile takeover of The Chair. A great war ensued. MrO fraught bravely, but his strategy of arm poking was to no avail. He sought my advice on the matter. I suggested the pulling of the hair tactic (only to be used in The Chair takeover situations). Fully armed, he marched out. One prolonged tug later and The Chair was rightfully reclaimed. Victory!
I am pleased to say that MrO celebrated his glory with a 99 ice cream (with flake), and his carriage was made ready. I was sad to see him depart. However, I did not take receipt of my promised whole half of a sausage roll. I may take legal action.