 the lucky butchery by philippa wilkinson i told a lie today when the butcher asked me if i was on facebook i said i wasn t earlier in the day i invited some friends over for dinner when they accepted the invite i realised i had nothing to feed them no bother a quick stop at the lucky butchery on the way home the short walk from the office was hot and dusty and stepping inside the butchers i was hit by the strong smell of raw meat and blood the butcher was sitting back in his plastic chair his feet resting against the counter he was chewing a mango fingers sticky his white coat was clean except for a small splattering of red on the front and the juice of mango near the collar where it had run from his chin down to mark its presence on his coat he looked up took one more bite from the mango and lay it down on the work surface before standing up to greet me once the greetings had been made i said 500g of steak please he lifted a hunk of meat from the counter and slapped it down on the scales carefully measuring the exact amount hacking off pieces here and there i looked around swatting at the flies buzzing around my ear half a goat was hanging in the window skinned except for the little bit of fluff at the end of its tail on the meat counter lay slabs of red lukewarm meat in plastic trays encrusted with blood another tray held a large squishy piece of cowliver i wanted to sink my fingers into it it looked smooth and jellylike once the precision of weighing the meat was finished the butcher asked if i would like the meat cut yes please i replied while finishing his task there was small conversation do you like the weather yes i replied it s nice today so you are married here in kenya and i thought how strange it was that the topic of conversation could jump from the weather to marriage in one fluid sentence no i m not oh he said how long are you in kenya for i replied that i didn t know i said i d just been home for christmas and i don t know when i ll next go back oh he said again as his metal of his knife cut neatly through the meat leaving imprints on his wooden chopping board but your husband he is in england no i replied your boyfriend do you have a boyfriend no i replied again there was a pause in conversation his colleague came into the room and picked a piece of paper from the side she left the room and that s when the lie began i m going to search you on facebook the butcher told me i thought that it would ve been nice if he d asked rather than told me you won t find me i said oh why that s when i lied i m not there it worked he didn t say anymore he just passed me the meat in a small black plastic bag and said nice time i left the lucky butchery and continued on my walk home pondering the choice of name lucky lucky butchery i wonder who decided on that name and why issue 3 philippa wilkinson lucky butchery permalink submitted by heather hall not verified on march 26 2013 1615 i really enjoyed your description of the lucky butchery and the wanting to be friend on facebook took me back to our days in uganda i ll never forget the expressions on my visiting kids faces at a marketplace a few miles from where we lived where meat was being hacked off a carcass with a panga  reply 