'Sausages are the Boys'!

The unlikely notice of a mission came via the Internet when I was least expecting it, late in the evening. I was immediately on my guard, suspecting the worst, but the mission commander, although domiciled in a Barcelona barrio, seemed genuine enough and the request seemed doable if not a little strange.

I was to go to a certain named shop, purchase 3 specific items and deliver them to an intermediary for redistribution tomorrow. Lest you are worried for my safety, I was not gun running or being a courier for drugs; it was much more banal than that, but there was some blood sport involved.

I encountered no particular hazards unless you count lashing rain and streams for footpaths, and I didn't see any boys in blue, armoured cars or police dogs.
With the mission accomplished in 6,500 steps, I reckon I probably got away with it.

Before that excitement, I entertained a genuine Lady for coffee. I minded my 'ps' and 'qs', perfected my curtesy, angled my pinkie in a fitting manner round the cup, and we had a grand catch up on the news front.
All in a day's work.