Fred's bucket.

Once upon a time, for a short while, (13yrs, almost to the day) I/we did our best to impersonate jewellers.

Way back "early on" my mate Fred wandered in with this thing 1/3 full of watches and smelling like a ponce's parlour (The bucket, NOT Fred, I might add.) and uttered the imortal words ... "This lot any good to you lad?"

From then, even up to now, when I'm working about 1/2 to 1hr per week, old fred lurks under the bench, full of assorted, potential, victims of cannibalisation.

I, UTTERLY refuse to put a bloody "Z" in there to appease the Yanky Spill-chucker.