Ah love plums, aye ah doo.
The Bear-Man panted as if struggling for breath as he advised me of this.
I looked around from the shelf of beers in his shop to find that he had shuffled his massive girth out from the counter and was standing mere inches away.
His face had an unhealthy sheen behind his bushy beard and his eyes were bright with what could have been fever or lust.
I hoped it was fever.
Gla raaraa glaa glaaaa.
He raised his hands to beard level and mimed the greedy stuffing of plums into his glistening pink mouth entrance.
I flinched at the sight.
Ooorrhhhhh, plums.
He smacked his lips in satisfaction and looked at me expectantly.
I looked back, my face puzzled as if Britain had voted for Brexit again.
Then it hit me...
Did he mean MY PLUMS!?
I reeled in horror at the very idea of my lovingly tended silk purse descending into the brutish hairy madness of his mouth.
Was he mental?
I backed up a step.
Bear-Man move forward a step, nodding as if it was a done deal and his plum dinner was mere moments away.
One of his stranglers hands reached out toward me and I let out an involuntary whimper praying to a God that did not exist for salvation.
Look at that...
He purred and with a jolt I realised I had closed my eyes.
Should I open them? Might it just be best to take the lickin as our friends over the Atlantic say? It would be no worse than a dog licking Bovril from them surely?
But no, I'm made of sterner stuff. If I was about to engage in an involuntary teabagging I would face it head on.
I opened my eyes.
The Bear-Man was cradling a bottle of beer in his fetid paws which he had plucked from the shelf just behind me.
Plum Pudding Porter.
The label proudly stated.
I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding and with its soft blowy exhale, other things in my body unclenched.
I held my hand out.
Oh go on then, give me it.
The Bear-Man passed it over with a reverential air.
I bet it's lovely.
He said softly.
It's bound to taste better than BALLS, eh? Eh!
I nudged him in the arm and proceeded to pay for my beer. All the while grinning the manic grin of a man who's balls remain uneaten.
Plum Pudding indeed.