What’s the time Disco Wolf?
Yes, these are tough times. The sun might be burning the tops of your shoulders red raw, but the real harm is coming courtesy of this damn recession burning a gigantic hole in your bank account. No one has any money any more. No one does any work. There are no jobs. Three years from now, you might pass your boss in the street, you slightly podgier – thanks to the cruelty of time – but him stooped on all fours, rampaging through street bins in search of breakfast. Ruined by his premature success, destroyed by his ego. Going completely berserk. It’s a weird, frantic time. Which is why we stop dead in our tracks and feel the warm caress of glee whenever we hear about a great find in a second hand shop. Just this weekend, while the rest of us lay face down in the park, friend of the site Danny was uncovering a startling find in a nearby Save The Children. “They had about five of these really colourful watches,” he yapped down the phone, “so I got three of them, one for the missus, two for me!” She will surely be delighted, and they do look very cheerful. So, come on, clever cloggs, how much for these retina-scarring time keepers? “Two quid each!”