Sweet banter

Me (waving bag of sugar at workman after making him a coffee): How much?
Workman (still managing to narrow his eyes, despite the glint in one of them): Oof, about 200g, I'd say....

The Grim Reaper

Me: I am aware that Death is trying to get me.
White Coat (putting stethoscope back into wallet): Since the day you were born, darling.

Its an ill wind.....

Stray: What's for dinner?
Me: I have no idea.
Stray: Why don't you try that celeriac and mushroom thing?
Me: No. Its too farty*.


*damaged brain combines FIDDLY and CLARTY into one word.