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*Aye aye. Here's someone oo looks like they like __boons!__*

Bellowed the *Bear Man* in his thick Northern English accent, as I entered his Beer shop.

I looked askance at him. 

*I beg your pardon?*

Said I in my finest posh Scottish voice. Which kind of sounds like Gerard Butler gargling some of Sean Connery's jizzum. 

*Boons! Eh! You like boons?*

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Despite the *Bear Man's* jolly demeanour there always seemed to be an implied threat in his words when he spoke to me.

I mean, what the fuck was a *boon?* I had merely popped in to buy some funky beers for the weekend. Not to be challenged on my love for the alleged *boons.* Whatever they were... 

Wait, did he mean *Baboons?* Was he calling me a monkey fucker? Fuck, how did he know about that?

*Boons?*

I enquired as I sidestepped the till which for the moment was restraining his large frame. 

*Aye lad. Boons. You look like you like a good boon!*

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This was getting wearisome.

*What's a boon?*

The *Bear Man* looked affronted. As if I had tickled his wife's knee with an albatross feather. 

*Boons?! You know... __Booooons.__*

He said this slowly and clearly as if I were a Spaniard and he, a British tourist attempting to be understood.

I gave him a watery smile and nodded in the way that you would to an idiot with too many teeth. 

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*Boons.*

I said reassuringly scanning the nearby shelves for a sturdy bottle with which to bosh him with if he suddenly leapt at me with his meaty hands. 

*Bear Man* threw his hands up despairingly. 

*Boons! You know, like em little cakes.*

His eyes lit up.

*Cinammon boons! You like a cinammon boon?*

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Realisation dawned on me.

*Oh wait, you mean __Buns.__ Cinammon Buns!*

*Aye, ya daftie. What did you think ah meant? Boons! Anyway, you like em?*

He leered at me. I felt my *Auntie's purse* tighten defensively. So he meant buns. Oh, oh. Did that mean he wanted to drag me in the back like a rotten log and cuff me to a radiator for dubious *night-soil* fun?

I stepped a couple of paces further away from him and pointed a sternly raised eyebrow at him. An eyebrow that spoke of ancient battles with his kind on muddy fields of blood.

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He wasn't put off. 

Slowly he navigated his large belly around the till and lifted a foreboding hand toward me.

I flinched. Was this it? Was I to be beaten and sold to the Russians as a novelty buttock bicycle rack?

I realised I had my eyes closed. 

*BOONS!*

Roared the *Bear Man.*

I squeaked an eye half open. 

There before me in his meaty hand was a black can of something. The writing on it obscured by his big sausage'y fingers.

He nodded for me to take it and I extended a wobbly hand out to his. 

He pressed the can into mine. It was warm. 

I peered at it with one eye, the other eye keeping a watch on the *Bear man* in case this was a ruse to make me lower my guard. The other eye twitched in its lair awaiting the command to attack.

*Cinnamon Bun Beer*

Read the writing on the can. 

*Oh. Cinnamon Bun Beer... That sounds quite funky. Yes, go on, I will have that one please.*

I said as my nerves ceased to jangle. 

*See, I knew you looked like a man oo liked the _Boons._*

I nodded.

*Yes.I do like the __Boons.__*