Look oo it is! We mistcha last week. Onoliday werya?
TheBear-Man beamed a smile so wide it put me in the mood for a kebab.
Nah, no holiday for me.
I replied cheerily.
Who couldn't be cheery. It was Friday. And that meant a visit to my favourite beer shop to buy some gloriously exotic beers.
I grinned at the Bear-Man. It was good to be back in his shop. After the scabby shop that I had decided to visit for a change last week, walking into my favourite shop was like pulling on a pair of slippers.
Slippers that were refreshingly free of ejaculate.
Where was ya, then?
Grunted theBear-Man from his lair behind the counter.
Oh, I just popped down to that new beer shop on the south side. You heard of it?
The Bear-Man's head bobbed back and forth oddly, reminding me of the last time I had a turtle's head
Aye. Av eard of it.
Well, it was shit but I thought I would check it out, you know.
He looked at me with narrowed eyes.
Shit was it?
Aye, totally shit.
The Bear-Man drew himself up to his full height. He looked quite smug.
And now yer back. Fandan.
I crooked an eyebrow.
I beg your pardon?
The Bear-Man lowered his head as if to charge me.
He growled low in his throat.
Will, this was a little awkward. Fandan in Scottish slang pretty much means daftie or idiot.
Despite the massive size of the Bear-Man, my less than genteel upbringing took over.
Who are you calling a fanny?
I asked as politely as I could.
Eh, nobody said you were a fanny. I said fandan!
He sounded quite indignant.
So this was it. For months, I had been fearing that one day the Bear-Man would snap and try to shag me with his terrible penis and today looked to be the day.
Well, let no-one say I went into the night quietly.
Fandan. Fanny. Same thing.
I uttered grimly, settling my feet into an ancient fighting pose of a little known martial art, Broon Shooriken.
It was an ancient art of shitting backwards through the body, launching a horrifying payload at my enemies via my perfectly formed mouth.
He looked perplexed, no doubt this was how the southerners displayed terror.
No, ya fanny. Pandan!
He pulled a can of beer out from under the counter and held it before him. If he thought for a minute he should deflect the incoming shitstorm coming his way with that he was badly mistaken.
I took a deep breath and prepared to launch.
He jabbed a big beefy finger at the can.
Pandan, coconut and coffee milk stout, see?
I halted and peered closely at the can he was holding.
Oh. That looks smashing. I will have two please.
He was right, it had Pandan leaf in it, whatever the fuck that was.
I relaxed my back bin a little. The crisis was averted.