Mr Piper leaned back in his chair, and said "God, there's chocolate icecream pouring out of this cone." (nice one Mum have a good time in Egypt). Later they returned to Betty's house in the country for coffee. They chatted outside under the twin plum trees while they smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. Wiping the dead leaves, squashed plums, and firm balls of sheep shit off the soles of their feet as they went in, Peter Piper asked Betty if she minded whether he sit down at her computer and add the third 400 words to his essay on Mao Zedong. "Sure, and it's late, why don't you stay the night? We can go to the Big Golden Guitar (Tamworth is where the country music festival is held annually) in the morning."

"Sounds like a great idea."

Later---

Peter Piper's essay was getting progressively worse. He kept repeating 'big words' to sound like he had a good vocabulary, words such as 'socioeconomic', 'progressively' and 'military right-hand man Zhu De'.

In the morning they indeed drove to the Big Golden Guitar after taking a dip in the pool. "Betty, you're like a jar of caviar, everyone wants to eat you, but noone wants to fork the bill."

"I know, Mr Piper, but I'm nevertheless pleased to be a jar of caviar. Smoked salmon and anchovies are OK but roe is the shit."

The End  ¶ 12:00