The Great Sky Meat Mystery

I open the front door to leave an empty bottle out for the milkman.

It is dark, the front path is illuminated by the street lamp, and in the distance an owl hoots.

"Hoot," it says.

The fog has lifted, and with it the ideal cover for a string of letterbox turdings I have in mind.

I look down, and there, on the path, something glistens. The glisten of fresh meat, for that is what it is. On closer inspection, it appears to be a pork chop, so I scoop it up with a tissue and drop it into the bin, in case it is the work of some sort of dog poisoning nutter.

"Oh, that's just the weird upstairs neighbour," says Jane, scotching my hope that this is the work of a caring deity, testing my lack of faith through the medium of free meat. I am infomed that she probably might be a tad on the mad side, and throws her other half's dinner out of the window. She doesn't even bother cooking it these days, I am told.

Fair enough, the price of electricity and gas is through the roof these days.

But now, I am intrigued, and make regular checks for Sky Meat. Already I have seen:

- Pork chop
- A pile of king prawns
- Half a chicken
- A crusty steak pie
- An actual beef steak
- A Pot Noodle

And the veggie option:

- A bag of oven chips

Disappointingly, I check every morning, and I am yet to blag any free sausage and bacon. It is, one hopes, only a matter of time.

Beggars can't be choosers, but I think I'll post her a shopping list, see what we get.

And the dog laughed his Ronnie Corbett laugh.