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Whatever happened to the butcher who would stand outside his shop and yell prices of the meat inside his shop? The butcher who, in 1988, was about 30 with sunburn damage making him look 45, had a goatee, a white shirt covered by a navy blue apron with thin white vertical stripes, greasy brown hair which was missing from his forehead but reached his shoulders, Blundstones, old tattoos from his days in the Hells Angels. And you thought he was personally yelling at you, like road rage without the car, but really, it was just a long rant about sausages ending in ‘99 per kilo’. Where’d he go?