Britain made Great again

It is true that I, Drake Studebake, of considerable shuttlecock fame and fortune, am but an immigrant in this blowy rather superfluous island of Britain. And it is also true that I will never leave. Small Achilles had doubts until yesterday when the cloud cover broke and the sun dipped her toe into an otherwise abysmal summer's day.

Our dryer had broke at some stage over night. After a little morning research using the powers of Google, little Kikuchiyo and I identified a lack of voltage as the cause. Off we went to buy an extension cord to test the dryer via various outlets.

Hastrobal in the stroller, pipe in hand, I in my cap, we arrived at our local cruddy ironmongers (hardware store to us New Worldies) and inquired of the man with a name tag whether they carried cruddy extension cords.

"You mean a lead." Said cruddy man with a cruddy name tag.

"Whatever." I thanked him for correcting my English. "Do you have one?"

"Downstairs." He pointed to a narrow staircase in the corner of the store.

"Well, you see, I cannot manage those stairs with this buggy." (The Brits call a stroller a buggy.)

"I will watch the baby then." Said cruddy man.

I stared at him for about 45 seconds. He didn't budge.

"Alternatively," I said without even a scent of contempt, "you could go downstairs and grab me an extension cord."

"I mustn't leave this spot." He pointed down.

I stared for another 45 seconds, recognized that some asshole manager had told him that his job was to stand there, on that spot, all day, then wheeled out Throckmorton mid-puff.

The cloud cover thickened.

Then off we went to the local grocery store on the off chance that they might carry a lead.

We wheeled in strong through the exit doors and grabbed coffee and beer on the way to the potential electrical promise land. And then it happened, Britain was made Great again.

Just past the heavenly beer aisle was a sight worth waking up Hastrobal for: A single malt whisky tasting trolley! Complete with an old cataract-eyed man peering over a dozen stinking bottles.

Needless to say, the sun came out and little Achilles and I got smashed all the while discussing the virtues of this generous glorious island.