The snow was getting heavier. Deciding I couldn't be bothered becoming another living snowman, I headed for a nearby bed salesroom, uninspiringly named "Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Except we only have one broom, and it isn't for sale."
"Afternoon Sir, welcome, welcome, do come in!"
I was greeted optimistically by a young beds-salesman fellow, who welcomed me into the store and, with a wide sweep of his arm, advertised the many beds for sale.
"You look cold, sir. Rather chill day, isn't it? Well, maybe we have some offers to cheer you up? Polish your knob sir?" He asked, chuckling, his hand reaching out to tickle me boisterously in a personal area.
"Just our little joke, sir. We like a little knob-based humour round here, we do!
"And in your case," he continued, "Very little knob-based humour, I'm guessing"
"Am I paying extra for this... Service?" I asked dryly
My salesman, skipping manically away now, hopping over beds in a demented fashion, laughed out loud.
"Paying... Know a lot about paying for services, do we sir?"
I made to follow him, when another sales assistant suddenly appeared to my right.
"Sir, sir! Oh, I am dreadfully sorry... It's just, well, he's Clive you see... And... Well, he's harmless, and we figure... Better than letting him out on the streets... Do himself harm... Mischief, with buses!"
He was clearly out of breath, explaining the pauses and missed words in his eloquent soliloquy. I wasn't sure what the buses reference was about, but before I could ask, he continued:
"Well, let us make it up to you Sir."
He reached into his pocket, producing a small tub of wax.
"Knob polish, sir? On the house."