Roll Up, Roll UP

I have just been to lunch with my pal Shanna to the Harvester. We are two girls with one keen eye on our waistline and the other on our purse so we tend to have a visit to the salad cart and a fizzy drink. The one which is not far from work has had a re-fit but they have scrimped on some of the details as some of the wood work looks like a packing crate which has been slapped on the wall with a staple gun - The Ivy it aint.

As we were leaving, a beautiful Jag was making its way out of the car park. It was crammed full with people but on the back seat/driver's side was a little woman - a REALLY little woman. Shanna and I both agreed that the Jag was obviously hers which she had finaced through her work in the circus as she was a thing of genuine wonder and amazement. We imagined several succesful tours in Eastern Europe where she would ride standing on the back of a shetland pony dressed in thick tights (it's chilly in Poland)

Retired now and having amassed a considerable fortune she holds court once a week at the Harvester, she probably treats her friends (there were a good many crammed into the Jag) to a surf and turf on the one proviso that one of them gives her a lift up to reach the salad cart.