I was just pondering the cereal selection in my local spar, childish coco based or get into a red swim suit special K? Its not often that you hear an Australian accent in my particular backwater. Its all Manchester drawn out vowels round here. So to hear the slightly anglicised "Gooday, I'd like a bottle of The Shiraz on the left and a box of cooks matches Please." made me turn from my selecting. The boy behind the till looked to be trying to remember something, maybe which bus he had seen this grey haired gent on. I knew Rolf from Dad's LPs of my childhood, Rolf's Cartoon club (I was one of the children on it once) and others of his great works. I didn't expect to see him here, in Spar, buying mid price range wine and cooks matches. I guess that everybody has to buy them somewhere. I chose the cereal rapidly, bran flakes, I'd never eat them, grabbed a bic biro from the shelf on the way up the aisle. I got to the end of the aisle and Rolf was making his way to the door, thin carrier bag of goodies in hand. As I headed out of the door after him I had ideas that I would invite him round to my house for a cup of tea, that I'd ask him to draw a picture on the back of the cereal box and one day it would be worth a fortune. As I crossed the threshold between shop and street I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You going to pay for them or what?" Said the shop manger, hand still clinging onto my collar. I saw Rolf give one tiny backwards glance at me and my predicament as he jumped into his car and headed off up the road.
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