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"The duty of a wealthy man," my father used to say, "is to provide employment for the artisan." But I am not a wealthy man, and so I found myself in Romany's Builders Merchants on Camden High Street on a Saturday morning, ready for a spot of DIY.
"I'd like a widget please," I said to the large man behind the counter.
"What length of widget would that be, Sir?" he said.
"A six-inch widget," I said.
"Well, Sir," he said, "we have eleven different grades of six-inch widgets, as well as a number of five-and-a-half and six-and-a-half inch widgets for specialist projects. Might I enquire as to the use to which you intend to put this widget?"
"Certainly, my good man," I said. "This widget is needed for the elevation of a sixteen-hand carbon-fibre monocoque thingummy of my own design."
"Right, Sir," he said, "then I would recommend a six-inch nickel-alloy widget with a double-depth caterpillar thread and a butterfly flange."
"A butterfly flange?" I said, perturbed. "That sounds a little advanced for your general Saturday afternoon do-it-yourself project. Whatever's wrong with a traditional rotating-cuff flange?"
"It is rather new, Sir," he said, "but I think you'll find the butterfly flange offers all the benefits of the traditional design, while offering improved torque, a vastly increased fractional coefficient and a number of colour options."
"Very well," I said, a little reluctantly. "I'll take it. How much?"
"Half a pony," he said.
"Half a what?" I said.
"Half a pony," he said. "Twice a donkey. Three-fifths a clamshell, or, if you prefer, one goat."
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"That's all right, Sir," he said. "The price of this six-inch nickel-alloy widget with double-depth caterpillar thread and a butterfly flange is a monkey's purse, a stick-and-a-half, Uncle Fred's beer money, three chicken gizzards and a hen's beak; in short: two pies."
"In plain English, please," I said, drawing myself up to my full height.
"Two forty," he said.
"Fine," I said.
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