Old George Davison hobbled onto the corner of the Rectory Field fairground. The retired miner had broken his foot in his garden five weeks ago and was still cursing at the irony of having never injured himself when he was down Houghton Pit. The walk from the Seahills Estate has tired him out and the fact that he had forgotten his specs didn't improve his mood one bit.
He surveyed the lengthy queue for his grandson Paul.
Where the hell is our Paul? he thought. The line-up was increasing in size by the second and the Mayor would be here soon.
"Alright Geordie?" came a familiar voice.
George smiled. "Aye pet," he said in fake recognition. Without his glasses he didn't have the foggiest idea who the fair-haired wife was, but she seemed to know him.
"Just looking for our Janine," she said, disappearing into the growing mass, "she's meant to be on a diet and shouldn't be eating ox sandwiches."
The air was now thick with the smell of roast beef and the hungry crowd were pleased to see the Mayor arrive to carve the first slice of meat. Sian Wilkes' rumbling tummy bulged in her short skirt, her long blonde hair hiding the scowl on her face. She was first in the queue. Finally first, after all these years of trying.
But it had been close.
She'd been sorely tempted to spend the day filling up Mrs Archer's slot machines in the Golden Casino on Newbottle Street, but the thought of getting her photo in the newspaper had swayed her decision.
The Mayor presented her with the complimentary sandwich and she snatched it out of his hand and tucked into the juicy meat while the local press photographer clicked away. Her plan to get a free feed and photo in the paper had paid off and she was bound to be the centre of attention in the Blue Lion pub for the rest of the week...
