Specimen Hunting.

I sat outside Sainsbury’s for ten minutes yesterday, watching the ladies trip hither and thither between the town and the car park. Some were fat, some were thin. Some were pretty and some were ugly. Some were young…

‘Jeffrey!’ came a strident voice from up above me somewhere.

‘What?’

‘You’re doing it again.’

‘Am I?’

‘You are. How many times do I have to lecture you on this subject? The terms ‘fat’ and ‘ugly’ are relative and born of your grubby little prejudiced mind.’

‘But I’m looking for interesting specimens.’

‘Heavens above! There’s another one. Specimens indeed!’

‘I do the same with dogs.’

‘That’s hardly the point. Mend your ways, young man, or you may find yourself regretting it one day.’

‘I’m not young.’

‘Shut up.’

‘And I’m not sure I’m human either. That’s why I look for interesting specimens.

‘Shut UP!’

My higher mind is a right Miss Trunchbull, you know. The suspicion that she’ll still be there when I’ve rung down the curtain never leaves me. What concerns me most is that she might be the only thing that’s there when I get to the other side.