Oblong Scone

There's a concerned, faintly embarrassed look on the barmans face as he comes back holding a still seeled bottle of lager and a half pint glass. 'I'm aftaid we don't have a Leffe glass is that OK?' he says, holding an identical unbranded glass up to the artificial light. His customer looks momentarily disorientated by the news, struggling to understand the implications of this announcement; slowly the awful reality dawns: This brave man, who's probably been slaving all day in the office; shaking people's hands, pressing 'Page up' on his keyboard; maybe even 'Page down'; faces the prospect of sitting drinking Belgian beer from a glass that does not advertise its contents. His right shoulder drops for a second as he analyses thoughtfully the substitute glass. He looks momentarily as if he's going to start negotiating a discount. Afterall, someone might later ask what he was drinking, causing him the indignity, not to mention waste of valua...

Shabby clothes hide dirty skin His eyes wont focus on anything. He holds the keys. Supervising nothing. Spouting advice. No one acknowledges him. He explains disapprovingly. That from the beginning of next week. A single lousy cycle. Will cost an extra thirty P. With his stained expression. He demonstrates piety. To the church of dissatisfaction. Of British society. And when we've all gone. Left him mumbling alone. He'll spring into action - lock the door. Never get home.