One Saturday morning, at about 10.30, my wife and I were in the local butcher’s shop for our weekly meat supply. There were two of the usual butchers on duty, both of whom are very pleasant and helpful men. The one who was not serving us on this occasion is usually ready with a bit of banter and is something of a wit.
An elderly and rather solemn man came into the shop and stood looking around, making little attempt to address himself to the butcher who was waiting to take his order. Eventually the butcher asked if he could be of assistance. The man looked around and somewhat reluctantly asked for four pork chops, which the butcher wrapped and placed on the counter. “Will that be all, sir, or is there something else?” The man looked around and said, “A pound of pork sausages, please.” These, in turn were wrapped and placed on the counter, but this time the butcher just waited. After a pause, “Six chicken breasts, please.” These were added to the growing collection of goodies and the patient butcher waited once again. “Half a leg of lamb.” This was produced and again the butcher waited, in perfectly good humour, for this is a real, old-fashioned shop, where service is the watch-word. “I’ll have that piece of beef,” said the customer, pointing to the desired joint. This, too, was wrapped and placed on the counter. The customer gazed around the shop for a while before deciding on “a steak and kidney pie for me lunch.”
“Is that it, sir?” enquired the butcher. “Yes, thank you. I think that’s all.” To which the butcher replied, with a smile, “Well, we are open until 4 o’clock this afternoon if you should run out!”