A cheesy story
‘Hey Wensley, how ya doin?’
‘Baa, not bad. A bit splodgy, been here a bit too long, I’d say. I’m really squashed, not comfortable at all. To be honest, I think they’ve forgotten I’m here. How about you Manchego?
‘Well I sure as hell know how that feels. That kid stuck a load of weird wax stuff on top of me yesterday. Pressed down on me and everything. Just as well I’m in a box, even if it is split on one side.’
‘Did you know Halloumi has been chucked outside the box now?’
‘Whaaat?’
‘Yep. I can sort of see him from here. Through the other box just off to the side. On the shelf but right at the back. Curtains for him, I reckon.’
‘Yeah, it’ll be Christmas by the time they find him. It’s all very well being vacuum packed but there is a limit.’
‘Well we all know who went exotic shopping on Tuesday, don’t we?’
‘Gorgonzola here, Zola there. They’ll regret it for sure. Fancy shmancy boxes.’
‘Ugh, it already stank in here. I’m doing my best but that Roquefort, he’s everywhere. Put him somewhere separate for God’s sake. Mingin’. Needs his own space. Another fridge would be good.’
‘I heard mention of a new bottle of Port so maybe he’ll sling his hook soon.’
‘Oh yes, Saturday – the Big Night. Marble board and everything. At least a decent bit of surgery this time. Some respect at last.’
‘Just as long as Rocky keeps his distance. I don’t like people confusing me with the likes of him. Or Brie. He likes to spread himself all over the place. Starts out okay in his corner but then, after he’s been out of the fridge for half an hour, he’s getting up all close and personal. Positively offensive. Overrated in my opinion. Mature, my arse.’
‘Word says that that Davidstow geezer is getting promotion. He’s starting on Saturday night I heard. Hope they use a blunt knife.’
‘Yeah, corner him. That’ll wipe the smugness off his packaging.’
‘Just wait till she gets the Dundee chunky out. Same knife and everything.’
‘Yeah, they’ll have to scrape his arse good before he’s on the marble on Saturday. Posh dinner ‘n’ all.’
‘Ooh, she’s got her face in the fridge again. She’s getting the milk out and the butter. And the cauliflower. Well we all know how this is going to end, don’t we? Which one of us is going into meltdown now?’
‘If she opens our box, she’ll find out Feta died here last week. Give the Greek a decent funeral, please.’
