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shopping for Dad (who’d had a sudden craving for a pork dripping sandwich) and The Man With The Fabulous Dogs was there too, buying bacon. The Fabulous Dogs = a  Terrier with a deeply suspicious expression and an gorgeous, beefy, enormous white boxer dog. If their faces were having a conversation it would go:

Terrier: ‘What’s your bloody game then?’
Boxer: (laughing like a loony) ‘Eeeeh! By eck, in’t it grand?!’

TMWTFD is not an old man, but he shouts loudly and has an elderly turn of phrase.After Hayden (the butcher) had given the queue (there’s always a queue) chapter and verse on why there were no pies out:

T’ wife went out at 5 o’ clock last night. I don’t know when she got in but she’s ::sudden loud voice directed at the stairs:: not got up yet!

Then The Man With The Fabulous Dogs announced to the world in general: ‘By eck, I’ll tell thee sommat, I’ve bin in’t newsagent and you’ll niver guess what ee’s got in a day early? Practical Caravan! That’s my afternoon. I’m goin’ home, goin t’ sit out in t’gardin in me deck chair wi’ a pint of coffee and read me magazine. That’ll do me fer t’ next three hour.’

There followed an intense discussion over the relative merits of the white and red cheeses (ey, it’s only a bit o colour int’ it?). ThenTMWTFD (jokingly, with much winking and air-nudging) asked for 250g of t’red cheshire.
Hayden: Can you repeat that order in English?

Much laughter ensued. By eck but we can mek us own entertainment up here.

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