Wednesday, September 17, 2008

The Costs of Living


“What’s going on?” said Harold, waving a letter at Jasfoup. “I’m not made of money.”

“I know.” Jasfoup took the windowed brown envelope and tapped it against the heel of his left hand. “If you were made of money you’ve be worth something.”

“Yes, fourpence.” Harold sat down. “Why am I getting a bill for the blinking church?”

“How should I know?” Jasfoup pushed the teapot toward him. “Have a cuppa. It’s good for shock, they tell me, though I’ve always found ten thousand volts does the job.”

Harold pulled out the chair and collapsed into it. “I’d cut my head off for the insurance but I’m only worth a tenner.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” said Jasfoup, tucking the bill into his breast pocket. “You’re worth at least seven hundred and sixty pounds.”

“Thanks.” Harold frowned. “That’s a bit precise. How did you work that out?”

Jasfoup drank the rest of his tea as he rose. “That’s the value of your organs on the black market. Must dash.”

3 comments:

aims said...

Oh Oh! I'm wondering if we are going to be treated to Jasfoup protecting those (valuable) organs.....

Hmmm - a bill for St. Marples?

Leatherdykeuk said...

I think this blog is out of sync with the other!

Olga/Maddie said...

Bri and I just finished watching a film where one of the characters mentioned that he was put up on the black market as a baby.

And now in this blog entry, Jasfoup tells Harold the value of his organs on the black market.

Synchronicity?

Hope that you and yours are doing all right, that things are going okay, and that the rest of the day goes all right for you all.

Hugs, lovies, and stuffs for you all. *HG*

God bless and take care. :).
Olga/Maddie