“It is just for one pint,” I insisted.

She stared at me in suspicion, like an old lady who’d wandered into a Bjork concert.

“Promise,” I promised.

I disappeared off down the drive. Moments later, I poked my head back through the open window. “Short Tony’s going as well,” I revealed. “Is it still OK to go?”

She acquiesced with a grudging nod, and continued making conversation with my visiting in-laws.

Some time later, I returned from the pub, having provisionally agreed to buy a third share in an Aberdeen Angus cow from a friend of a man who was sitting at the bar.

Why do I do it??? Why??? Why???

At least I agreed to negotiate in pounds sterling rather than my precious secret magic beans that are hidden away for a rainy day.

I do not need a cow. In fact, the only thing I can think of that I need less than a cow is a third of a cow.

I think the idea was to develop it into steaks, joints, beefburgers etc later in the year. I have half a drawer available in the freezer. I will need to eat a lot before there is enough room for even a third of a small cow, and even then I will not be able to enjoy it with frozen peas, ice cream etc.

I know where it grazes. I will visit it at some point and say hello. Although I did not sign anything and I do not have a cow license.

I could yet get out of this.

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