Return of the Pointy Dog's Cock

In the back room of Roget's Aquarium, round the back of Marple Ash, I sat wolfing down scratchings from the Black Country. One of them popped against the roof of my mouth and wet fat salted my tongue on its route out and down my chin. A passerby tipped his hat and said, 'My, that's quite some face on yours.' All in all, it was a moment to be savoured in this johnny-come-lately existence.