Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a butcher in Hornsey ain’t for the faint-hearted. Woke up this mornin’ to the sound of my neighbor’s dog howlin’ like it was auditionin’ for a horror flick. Seriously, mate, it was like a scene from a bad movie. Anyway, I dragged myself outta bed, threw on my apron, and headed down to the shop on Tottenham Lane.
First thing I see? A pigeon. Just chillin’ on the pavement like it owns the place. I swear, these birds have no fear. I nearly tripped over it. Hornsey’s got its fair share of wildlife, lemme tell ya. I mean, I love the place, but the wildlife? Not so much.
So, I get to the shop, right? It’s a small joint, but it’s mine. The smell of fresh meat hits ya like a brick wall. I’m talkin’ about the good stuff, not that pre-packaged rubbish. I start settin’ up, and then boom! The door swings open. It’s Mrs. Jenkins from the end of the street. She’s a regular, bless her heart. Always wants the best cuts for her Sunday roast.
“Oi, love! Got any of that lovely lamb?” she shouts. I’m like, “Of course, Mrs. J! Fresh from the farm!” I grab the lamb, and she’s all smiles. Makes my day, ya know? But then, just as I’m about to wrap it up, in walks this bloke. Looks like he’s just come from a rave or somethin’. Hair all over the place, and he’s wearin’ flip-flops. In October!
“Yo, mate! You got any vegan options?” he asks. I nearly dropped the lamb. “Vegan? In a butcher shop?” I laugh. “You’re in the wrong place, mate!” He just shrugs and wanders off. I mean, come on! Hornsey’s got some great cafes for that stuff, but not here!
Then, around noon, the skies opened up. Rain poured down like someone was dumpin’ buckets. I’m standin’ there, tryin’ to keep the meat dry, and I see my mate Dave from the pub across the street. He’s soaked, lookin’ like a drowned rat. He shouts, “Fancy a pint after work?” I’m like, “Only if you bring the umbrella!”
But then, just as I’m about to close up, I get a call from my cousin. He’s in a bit of a pickle. “Mate, I need a favor!” he says. Turns out he’s locked himself outta his flat on Hornsey High Street. I’m like, “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” But family’s family, right? So I grab my keys and head over.
Now, Hornsey High Street is a whole vibe. Shops, cafes, people everywhere. I’m dodgin’ folks, and I finally find his flat. He’s standin’ there, lookin’ sheepish. “Thanks, bro,” he says. I’m like, “Next time, get a spare key!”
By the time I get back to the shop, I’m knackered. But then, the best part of the day happens. A little kid walks in with his mum. He’s got this huge grin, and he points at the sausages. “Can I have one?” he asks. I can’t say no to that face! So I give him a free one. His mum’s all grateful, and I’m feelin’ like a hero.
But then, just as I’m about to close up, I hear a crash outside. I rush out, and there’s a car that’s just bumped into a lamppost on Hornsey Road. The driver’s fine, but the lamppost? Not so much. I’m thinkin’, “What a day!”
Finally, I lock up and head to the pub. Dave’s already there, laughin’ about the day’s madness. I order a pint and just let it all wash over me. Hornsey’s wild, but it’s home. And even on the craziest days, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Cheers to that!