There is a very good reason for this and we will tell you the reason for this.
Fay's friend Liz {back on the scene when she wants something} has convinced Fay to 'dog-sit' her unpredictable, enormous female Wiemaraner, {inexplicably named 'Heaver'} while she visits her elderly sister in Perranporth. Liz has two dogs, but the smaller of the two {'Philip' - an unprepossessing terrier of some description} went with her, leaving Heaver to spend the day roaming Liz's flat, either listening to Norfolk fm in the kitchenette or watching a selection of daytime television in the lounge-ette. At four o'clock every afternoon and half past eight every morning, Heaver has to be taken to the Mettingham Open Space and Nature Reserve/Play + Picnic Area for recreation, exercise and other necessaries. If you know what we mean. Liz has a selection of so-called 'nappy bags' - pink for Heaver and blue for Phillip. For the necessaries.
Well, after Fay had coaxed Heaver into the car, using a tin of sardines {the dog will apparently do almost anything for a sardine, which is strange, as so will Fay} driven to the Mettingham Open Space and Nature Reserve/Play + Picnic Area, made sure there were no children running or other dogs present - both or either of these things will provoke Heaver, and indeed Philip to prolonged and savage attacks - coaxed Heaver from the car, positioned her lead and muzzle and commenced the dog walk, Fay realised she had overlooked one essential component of the evening routine.
Suffice to say, when they were some distance from the car, Heaver chose to relieve herself, mid footpath in full view of several other keen walkers. Needless to say, even if the Mettingham Open Space and Nature Reserve/Play + Picnic Area had been completely deserted, Fay would still have felt duty bound to tidy up after Heaver's exertions. Realising she had left the nappy bags in Liz's flat, Fay searched desperately through the eighteen pockets of her 'Anapurna' windcheater. Chapstick, a pocket sewing kit, a sachet of salt, a book of matches, a small comb (won in a Christmas cracker), a half-eaten Fishermens Friend in a tissue, a feather, and a pound coin would not be of any use for the task in hand, but the till receipt from Tesbury's {our Local so-called Independent Supermarket}, saved the day. With the deftness of a Belgian lacemaker, Fay managed to package the unpleasantness in the surprisingly long and strong receipt until she was able to dispose of it in a recognised place of refuse. Thankfully, Fay always carries a pack of so-called 'Wet Things' in the glove box of the car in case of incident. She was able to use twenty two or so to clean her hands of potential taint from Wiemaraner waste.
So. We hope you know the answer the nxt time you are asked, "Would You Like A Receipt With That?"
Fay hopes Liz will hurry back soon.
