Mrs. Tucker limps into the side room next to the doctor’s waiting-room followed in a short time by Mrs. Beale. Both have been shopping. They drop their bags, thankful to rest at last.
  “Ow, ooh!” Mrs. Tucker rubs her left ankle. “I’m proper down this morning.”
“It does get you down.” There is no reply. Mrs. Beale raises her voice. “I say, it gets you down, don’t it?”
“It does that.”
“What I mean, this ’ere shopping lark, for instance. Sugar’s down.”
“Never touch it.” Mrs. Tucker rubs her ankle.
“No, but, as I say, sugar’s down at Uptop, up at Pricedown, same at Veri-Fair.”
“Sold out at ‘Iggins’s.”
“No. It were in top corner, luv. Price were up there.”
“Oh. I didn’t miss nothin’ then.”
Mrs. Beale doesn’t seem able to bear the silence that follows. “Well, as I say, up at one shop and down at another. You’ve got to go all over th’ Ockey and round th’ Wreakin to save money. It gets you down, it does.”
“It does that. My kids like their sugar. I don’t touch it. Keeps me weight down.”
“Gert Badger - you know that woman who’s just come to live in Bog Lane - she says it’ll be down tomorrow at Quality-Up.”
“Oh, you mean that woman who had a gold lion put on each side of her cottage gate?”
Mrs. Beale gives a grunt of disgust. “Lions! Lady Muck. You’d think it was Bog Mansion. Enough to frighten the devil.  Postie ‘Arry chucks her letters in one of th’ lion’s mouths. Says nobody’ll pinch ‘em from there and it saves him walkin’ to the door. I don’t blame him neither. She asks for it with her lardy-dardy ways.”
Another woman comes in just then. “Good morning,” she says brightly.
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Sears.” Mrs. Tucker rubs her ankle again. “Rain’s forecast for this afternoon.”
“Oh dear. And I’ve not brought my umbrella.”
“We were just talkin’ about the price of sugar,” Mrs. Beale tells her. “It’s a downright scandal the way they overcharge nowadays. Did you read about us being the country that pays the most?”
“Oh, are we? I’ve just bought some sugar from Rakers. Down two pence there.”
“Damn. Wish I’d known. I only got a penny off at Uptop. Gets you down, it does.”
“Ow, ooh, oh!” Mrs. Tucker is clutching her ankle.
“Whatever’s the matter, Mrs. Tucker?” Mrs. Sears is very concerned.
“It’s me ankle. Throbs. Always know when it’s goin’ to rain. Best
thermometer anybody could ‘ave.”
“Rain always makes my corns jump.” Mrs. Beale is not to be outdone.
“Well, the sun’s shining now.” Mrs. Sears tries to cheer them up.
“Not for long. Not with this ankle it isn’t, Mrs. Sears.”
Mrs. Sears gives up and changes the subject. “There’s a big queue out there waiting for the doctor. I don’t think I can wait that long.”
The other two nod.
“We know. But we’re not worried.” Mrs. Beale wriggles her outsize bottom further into the seat. “We’re not waitin’ to see the doctor. We always come in ‘ere to have a nice rest and a warm and a chat. We’ve always got plenty to talk about, ‘aven’t we, Mrs. Tucker?”