#79

For their summer display Morrison's have stacked a pyramid using 5525 tins of Heinz Chicken Vegetable soup. It's a wonderful piece of corporate art. When I first saw it this morning I shivered with adrenalin, proud that in some small way I had helped to put it there.

“Can vegan's eat pork?” John asked, examining a pack of reduced Lincolnshire sausages. When I said “no” he squeezed them all out of shape and chucked them back. I checked around frantically for CCTV camera's then moved him on. John's always done things like that, even before the wheelchair. He calls it the “little mans sabotage”, everyday things that people can do to disrupt the city. Once he made this huge list which included things like smashing Belisha beacons, blocking drains and blanking out street signs. On paper it was incredible the damage just one man could do if he really put his mind to it. But who the hell would want to sabotage Morrisons? We'd all die!

For tomorrow Verity will taste the delights of a microwaveable garlic and tomato pizza (no cheese of course). For dessert I found some vegan bourbon biscuits and will crush them down in some soya milk then put the mix in the fridge to chill. With Verity's drink driving charge still hanging over her head, and my medication hanging over mine, I didn't think alcohol was a good idea. As grape juice was the bargain of the week, I took five cartons and checked out.

On the way home, just as were passing the self-tanning boutique on the corner, John's hand suddenly shot out and he caught a grip of a pale naked thigh - right up high, his index finger almost touching the ballbag. My immediate reaction was to slap John's arm – make it withdraw. As I looked up to apologise my eyes came to rest on the young red-headed post boy.
“Err, sorry! Forgive us,” I stuttered “My friend, well he's...”
“Oh, its qwite allrite!” he said with a sweet queer voice “I mean, no harm done! Hee hee. An' he is on ma round, if those are the same specs I see sneeky peeping out the letter hole of number 42? Am I rite? I know I am!”
“Er, yea...” I choked, all flustered “As I say, excuse the hand thingy, but we've gotta be...”
“Oh La, would ya take a look at that, VEEgans!” the postboy sang, now nosing about in the shopping bag which was hanging on wheelchair “Garlic tomato pizza, someone IS in for a treat! By the way, I'm Brian – Aristotle to close friends. My grandfather was VEEgan (bless'iz soul) one of the first, ya know! An' before it was 'the fashion'. He used to say “men don't need meat.” Well, I don't agree with that, hee hee, but I do like the idea of alternative lifestyles, ya know, like a break from the norm. I'm SO not the norm, really! But it's hard to convince the world of that with a name like mine! Hehe.” With that he kind of turned his foot out, poked his crutch forward, and stood there looking like a waif prostitute showing off her wares.
I eyed him strangely. Now up close and animated he didn't seem so awkward or delinquent after all. His pimples and mouth sores, which from a distance had resembled a teenage affliction, now looked much more like the side effects from too much oral sex.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Brian. But we have to get going, some VEEgan cooking to do. No doubt we'll be seeing you around though.” I said mimicking his camp voice and kicking John's chair into action.
“No dowt we will,” was his summer poppy reply “I've no dowt about it at ALL.”