I found this note in the street on my way into work. It's the third I've found bearing this message in the last six months.
John was back at work after a week off. I asked whether he'd had a good time and he told me his dog had eaten his Yorkshire pudding in a café in Grassington.
Two separate cars stopped to ask me for directions to the Spiritualist Church.
At County Foods, I handed my paperwork over to the receptionist and she filled in her signature while talking on the phone; "I've got this guy on hold, he's ringing from a café in Batley. He's on about black puddings..."
Suddenly, a large dog jumped up from behind the desk and began barking at me, its front paws on the sill of the service hatch. The receptionist dragged it back down by its collar as a tall man in a suit leant in through an adjoining door and gave her a quizzical look.
"Don't ask", she said to him.
"Is it a guard dog?" said the man.
"It's guarding me from the likes of you, Alan" said the receptionist.
At the newsagent's, the chubby assistant with the heavy foundation and the glittery bits on her face was telling her colleague about her unfaithful boyfriend as she served me. "He said she looked better from a distance than close to but he still knobbed her didn't he? He's got a picture of it on his phone!"