Great Expectations

No not yet another reference to a piece of literature, but my thoughts on the gamellawalla as I headed on down G46 way before lunch.  And there he was, the metal-basher, pumping up and down on his wee peg thing, till he looked up and away it came in his hand.  A quick dip in the rodium, rub and polish, wee fancy box, and we can safely deliver a parcel to The Genealogist au matin.

Consistently exceeding expectations is a phrase banded about quite often.  I have know accountants have it as their bon mot, or mission statement as the buzzword once was, only for their clients to tag on the words, ‘only in respect of the size of their fees’.  For my jeweller friend it generally applies in relation to the dates he gives his long-suffering customers, or punters as he prefers, for the completion of said commission.  But he did it, bang on time, well, bang on the second deadline, to the minute.

It has to be said though that this bout of fealty was not in fear of what I may have done to, or said about, him, but entirely down to what he hopes to get in return from the recipient of those little baubles.  I may dream of many things, he of different ones, the poor sad deluded man that he is.  No wonder his hair fell out, probably going blind now too.

Anyhow, I will rest easier this eve.  The cake is made.  I expect eyes to sparkle in the morning; they often do but not usually before the sun is over the yard-arm.  I can picture the gamellawalla, now, grubbing about in the dust, sweeping up his lemmells, weighing it all and bagging it, along with the fillings from teeth and any other bit of scrap metal he can find.  18 carat, aye right.  But thank you kind sir, the cheque, as they say, is in the post, and for anything else you need to find your way to the country retreat, for more than the usual annual visit.  Grazzi, old man, grazzi.

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