I called up a man to come and look at my sandwich. I think he came from Wolverhampton. My sandwich is properly large now. It is pressing against the fence and the back wall, and during the night it mutters and squirts and makes a sloppy fizzing sound like the noise of a busy lizard drowning in lemonade. So this is why I called the Wolverhampton man.
On the man's card it says he is an expert on garden pests. I would like a card like that. I don't know what I would call myself on my card. The lady next door made some suggestions, but she has got a naughty mouth. Anyhow, the man didn't do anything. He just looked at my sandwich and said that he specialised in Japanese knotweed and my sandwich was well out of his comfort zone.
After the man left, the sandwich started doing the electric boogaloo and firing conkers into the air, which was stupid and not at all what you would expect in the middle of the week. My sandwich might become annoying and I'm starting to think I should never have moved my fridge.