It is with a featherweight heart that I teletype this abstract. Yesterweek, I took it upon myself to go a-perambulatin'. The compelled monasticism we have all been practicing to greater, lesser, even lesser and not-at-all extents has sired its unfair share of plumpage. Afooting is now mandatory lest I go the way of Pfidze... FATZE... I am made queasy by my heretofore neglect of this ripe wordplay...

Anyhow, in my local park, I spied an elderly chap accompanied by whom I inferred and hope was his granddaughter. The tot was eager to engage with one of the many playground thingamabobs on offer (the geodesic climber it would transpire). The only snag impeding recreation was an insufficiency of Jaffa Cakes. Nimble deduction surmised that the two were on their way home from the nearby Tesco Express, as evidenced by the laden Bag for Life at Pops' ...