As he prepared to take his first bite, a shadow fell over his bench. It was Richard, known to everyone in the village as "Dick." Dick was a retired sea captain with a beard like a briar patch and a personality that was equally prickly. He was also notoriously hungry.
A butty, for the uninitiated, was not just a sandwich. It was a structural engineering project. It required thick, buttered slices of white bread and a filling substantial enough to survive a North Sea gale. On this particular Tuesday, Barnaby had prepared a masterpiece: a thick-cut bacon butty with a dollop of brown sauce. dick in the butty
Barnaby was the kind of man who took his lunch seriously. Every day at precisely noon, he would retreat to a quiet corner of the village green with a heavy-duty cooler and a flask of tea. Barnaby was a traditionalist, and in his part of the world, there was no meal more sacred than the butty. As he prepared to take his first bite,
Dick popped the morsel into his mouth, chewed with theatrical appreciation, and nodded. "Needs more butter, but it'll do. Cheers, Barnaby." A butty, for the uninitiated, was not just a sandwich
"There," Barnaby said. "A piece of the butty for Dick. Now, will you let a man eat in peace?"