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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Ted Cogger is our local butcher and he’s been here seven years; full forward for the footy team and drinks a nightly seven beers. He played one season for the cricket club, but he was just a slugger, and Ted’s become a mate of mine, but he’s a pretty sleazy bugger. I have suspicions ‘bout fidelity but of course there is no proof, and if Pat his wife did get the bell she’d probably hit the roof! All in all Ted’s just a bloke who loves his beer and sport, but if other rumours are all true then one day he’ll get caught. And caught he got, in front of me; there in his butchers shop. I was wandering home near five o’clock, so I thought I would stop and have a chat with Ted before he shuts up for the night, when in walks Mrs. Grundy much to Ted’s chagrin delight. I sat back and listened to their conversation taking place. Mrs. Grundy mentioned she hoped Ted would be her saving grace, but being Friday Ted’s not sure, for he’s let his stocks run low, therefore his freezers full of empty space with nothing much to show. She ordered sausages and corn beef, but Ted just shook his head, so Mrs. Grundy scratched beneath her chin, then she finally said, “Would you have a chicken I could buy” and one Ted duly found, then plonked it down upon the scales and weighed it as three pound. “Oh goodness me that’s not enough” Mrs. Grundy made another plea, “My son is coming for the weekend and that won’t feed his family, would you have a bigger chicken?” Ted went back for another look. I saw him bring back from the cool room - the very same old chook. He plonked it down upon the scales but Mrs. Grundy couldn’t tell, even though the chook is on the scales - Ted’s finger is as well. Ted mentioned that the weight’s four pound, thinking this would do … “That’s marvellous” said Mrs. Grundy - “Now can you wrap up the two?”
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