“A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!”
“All I’m saying” replied Thomas, “Is that if you use your imagination, and think of it maybe as a meat apple then it maybe could be.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t you think?”
Wednesday did not think. Not for one moment.
“Why do you insist on being so completely ridiculous?” He ranted, face flushed and his jaw clenched. “I swear you do it just to annoy me!”
“What if I gave you an apple flavoured one?”
“That’s a bloody apple!” Wednesday raged. “We’ve got a job to do here – stop going on about scotch egg flavoured apples and apple flavoured scotch eggs and dig!”
“What about an orange flavoured one?”
“Ok, you know full well that an orange flavoured apple flavoured scotch egg is a bleeding orange!” A vein pulsed just above his right temple. “Just keep digging and stop being an idiot.”
Thomas allowed himself just a little smile. He loved Wednesday deeply but he was a frightful bore at times and took things far too seriously. No imagination at all sadly. “It’s nature’s goodness Wednesday” he grinned, attempting to push the large brown pork ball into his friend’s hand. “Here”, he said “Take a bite they’re delicious!”
Wednesday hit Thomas’ hand away and the scotch egg fell to the floor “Stop it!” he shouted, “I don’t want a bloody pork apple!”
“So you admit it then!” Thomas laughed in delight, picking up the scotch egg from the floor “Oh Wednesday, you are funny. You won’t grow if you don’t eat your vegetables” he teased.
Wednesday did not find any of this funny at all. His sense of humour was not his strong suite. It served very little purpose in his line of work.
“Just keep digging the hole and then we’ll get out of here” he said thrusting a shovel into Thomas’ free hand.
“I don’t see why I always have to do the digging “ said thomas “you could help”.
Wednesday rolled his head, bones cracking in his neck. “You dig because I do most of the killing” he replied curtly. “If you want to do more of the killing then I will quite happily dig but if you insist of eating scotch eggs and being an idiot then you get to dig.”
“I only asked, bloody hell mate” Thomas said “This should be deep enough anyway, drag him over I’ll get him covered up.”
Thomas shovelled the majority of the soil over what was quite obviously the body of a rather portly gentleman, a single polished shoe protruding from a thick white wrapping that did very little to hide what was inside.
“Job Done” Thomas said satisfactorily, brushing the dust from his clothes.
Wednesday smiled “You got any of those scotch eggs left, I’m starving.”