this dreary winter morn finds hasanbe and me foraging in villa mart. they have recently added new space at the back, it’s a great extension to an already fantastic grocery store that’s fast becoming my fave.

i hardly eat out now following the resurgence of my home-cooking and i’m becoming familiar with places other than fantasy, where i like to bump into my more successful peers and pretend i belong while perusing the cheese section.

here at villa mart, i’ve bundled up a snatch of spring onions and two heads of garlic (mmm, who doesn’t love good head) and have sidled up near the counter behind a middle-aged man in worn clothes. then, i start to sneeze!

‘dear god man,’ says hasanbe. ‘what’s up with you?’

i cannot answer him because this is an unbelievable fit. the man in front looks behind at me crossly, then exits on soft slippers.

‘i must be allergic to something,’ i tell hasanbe in between sneezes. ‘and this isn’t the first time.’
and hasanbe mutters in disgust as we leave the store and head for fantasy.

as soon as i enter the store’s interior, i stop.

‘wow,’ i say. ‘it’s like someone switched off a light.’

‘interesting,’ says hasanbe. ‘let’s try something.’

he grabs my arm and takes me back to villa mart.

the sneezing begins as soon as i pass the counter with its scruffy patrons.

hasanbe hurries me back to fantasy where the fit subsides.

‘you know what?’ he says as i pick discounted belgian chocolates from the shelf.

‘what?’

‘i think you’re allergic to rubes.’

‘what? that’s nuts,’ i respond, put some truffles in my basket and go up to the cashier.

she looks at my face in horror.

alarmed, i run a hand over my face and there, amid a generous trickle of mucus, lodged in the hairs of my now dampened moustache, are four fat boogers!

hasanbe chuckles as i wipe my face on the paper bag.

‘you could have TOLD me,’ i yell at him.

‘did you forget to harvest your nasal fruits this autumn?’ he asks, grinning. ‘is that why they’re so damn big?’

‘shut up, hasanbe. just shut the fuck up.’