Forty Winks

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Alice said to get neeps and tatties.  She’ll bring some mince and we’ll eat together.  I’ll go out to the shop; it’s no pouring with rain today. Ah, bless her.  She’s put a note on the door.
‘Dear Hilda.  This is your front door.’  Silly girl, of course it is. ‘When you go outside, please check whether there are any pots on the hob.  Lock the door behind you.’  Alice must be getting a bit forgetful.  I’m no child, mind.  Right, key, bag: organised.  Up to the wee shop. 
‘Morning Hilda, out for a stroll?’
‘Morning, eh…. How are you?’  And who are you? I’ve never seen you in my life.
Ah, here’s the shop. It’s no bad wee shop.  Run by a dark couple.  Mind, I’ve nothing against them; they are just … different.
‘Morning Madam.  May I help you?’
‘I’ll just have some … what was it again … vegetable, orange …’
‘Carrots or neeps?’
‘Aye, that’s it.  Neeps please.  And tatties.’
‘Would you like that in a bag?   That is £2.94, please.’
‘Money …, oh dear, I seem to have forgotten my money.  How silly of me.  I’ll go and get my purse.’
‘Pay next time you’re in, Mrs. Anderson.’
‘That is very kind.’  How does he know my name?  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’
That was stupid, Hilda; must keep the old brain working.  Where am I going now?  This is not my street; must’ve taken a wrong turn.  Or have they swapped the streets around?  There’s always something going on in Glasgow.
‘Excuse me, where is Chestnut Drive, please?’
‘Just here to the right, Mrs Anderson.’
How does she know my name?  Ah, home.  Tired now.  I’ll just put the tatties on the boil; make a cuppa.  Could do with a wee nap.

Forty winks …


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Thank you! Be your nose a pointer for your brain! (OED)

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