Hank.

“Where can I get a REALLY good shag man?” He seemed very keen to get the best and I knew just the place. “How much cash do you think I’ll need?” I don’t know how much a really good shag is these days and told good 'ol American boy Hank you generally get what you pay for, he elbowed me in that manly way that’s quite annoying. We stopped at a cash point and emptied it, this guy is obviously out to pay for the best shag he could get while he’s here in England and I’m worried now that the little place I know won’t have what he’s looking for, fortunately I’ve seen what they have to offer and it looks good enough to me. “I’m a bit nervous! He is wringing his hands er… nervously; bit odd I thought, after all, it’s quite normal, maybe the town he lives in hasn’t got a place quite like the one I’m taking him to.  I tell him I think he will be pleased as you can get ready rubbed as well and they do quite a good rough one. His eyes light up. OH. MY. GOD!  He is starting to animate and jiggle about which is not really doing my suspension any good as Hank is quite a large man. We arrive at the bottom of the street in the old town and I cannot go any further. His large spongy wet hand shakes mine, he pays me and gives me a whole pound tip. I gesture where it is and tell him it is the fifth or sixth door up on the left. “How will I know it’s the right door?” I winked at him and told him he will know and watched him walk up the street, he stopped roughly where I said the place would be and I gave him the thumbs up. He did not look that happy, don’t know why, it’s the only proper tobacconist shop I know in this town. Some people are never happy are they?