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Showing posts from November, 2008

SOUP SPARRING

I was in Weymouth and I was walking. I am a man who can do these two things simultaneously. And even with my concentration focused on juggling this unlikely pairing, a poster in the window of the Spar convenience store caught my attention. ‘Why not come in and ask our staff about our hot soup.’ it said, and just like a man with the emptiest afternoon on record, I felt I was unable not to. I asked as to the temperature of the soup. The girl who I will call Karen (which did annoy her when she insisted her name was Clare) looked at me sympathetically and assured me that it is hot. I already knew this - it’s written on the poster. I was after additional temperature information, not the words of this admittedly striking poster regurgitated to me with a textured broth like murmur. Considering the A4 sheet had pushed me to interrogate on the subject of ‘hot soup’, I don’t think it was unfair that I then pushed Karen for a Celsius figure. 'It's hot', she repeated. Struggling to ret