The Vegetable Shop Man

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The vegetable shop man and I are looking at the window of the second-hand shop across the road, in which someone has been mildly satirical about the Royal Wedding.
You’ve got to love a mildly satirical window dresser.
At least I think they’ve been satirical.
Cardboard masks of the Royal family grin wonkily from assorted mannequins dressed in second hand wedding outfits.
William looks alright, but The Queen looks minging.
‘Posh and Becks’ he says, despairingly.
‘Fake celebrities’ says I.
‘They’re no more celebrities than we are’ he says.
‘All a distraction from what’s really going on’ says I.
We look at the mannequins again.
He shrugs.
I sigh.
‘I don’t want to hear about it’ he says.
‘What about Gaza, and Israel?’
‘Indeed’ says I.
A short silence ensues, within which develops a mutual understanding that all we can do about it is just crack on.
‘Bye then’ I say.
‘Bye’ he says.
‘Hope you sell a lot of strawberries!’
The vegetable shop man smiles.

© Gail Foster 18th May 2018

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