On a mildly blue, breezy day in Havonshire-Upon-Lincolnshire-Upon-Essex, 35 miles east of London, a slightly stout man with thinning, sandy hair and tortoise glasses briskly walked across the moor with rolls of paper tucked between his armpit. The man, of course, was Dunkin Stew.
Our hero walked with quite a sense of urgency and who knows what secrets were contained on those papers! The general topic, of course, was known to all. Dunkin Stew was a designer for the H.R. Bradford Company, the famous airplane chair design firm. Stew had been responsible for Bradford's greatest successes, such as the Sultan Class 500 Captain's Chair of Air Dubai's business class, and the Royal Buckaneer Executive Class Chair of Air New Zealand.
Although, as is known to all, Bradford has its offices on Carnaby Street in London, Stew could not take the bustle and stimulation of London, so he lived in a humble cottage across the moor from the main part of town. Every several days he would be seen running across the moor to town, where he would have his sketches sent by Royal Post to the offices of H.R. Bradford.
"Cheerio, old boy!" said Herb Stalwart, head clerk of the the Royal Post.
"Ah, oh. Yes!" said Dunkin sheepishly. "I am, I."
"Yes, yes, you want these shipped express to London. I know all about it. They'll go out this afternoon!"
"Oh that would be lovely," said Dunkin, looking at the floor. "There's something else. I believe, I, ah, might be expecting something."
Herb Stalwart was surprised, because Dunkin always sent things but never received. He checked the incoming posts and saw, indeed, something had arrived for Dunkin: Welsh Rarebit Monthly. For those who do not know, Welsh Rarebit is a classic English toast covered in a scrumptious cheese sauce. Welsh Rarebit Monthly was the oldest and most respected Rarebit journal in all the UK.
"Here you are, old boy!" said Herb Stalwart, handing over the magazine.
Dunkin became very excited and started flipping through the pages, and when he realized Herb Stalwart was observing, he flushed a crimson red and looked at the floor in embarrassment. Then he spoke:
"You see, I've become quite taken with Welsh Rarebit, as of late, and I want to devote myself to making the finest Welsh Rarebit there is."
"Bob's your uncle!" said Herb.
Dunkin suddenly felt more confident and decided to let loose, doing a little dance, kicking about his legs, and then he burst out:
"Yes! I am going to make the finest Welsh Rarebit in all the land! And I may even open up my own Welsh Rarebit parlor here in town!"
Herb Stalwart had never seen Dunkin more alive.
"You just wait!" said Dunkin. "Wait for the Rarebit!"
To be continued...
