As I am sitting in the Bulldog Pub and sipping my drink, my eyes are drawn to a man in his late twenties or early thirties whose both legs are ajitter. Apparently of nervous disposition, he is talking to a friend who must be telling him something of great interest to him. “Really?!” he keeps exclaiming all the while. “Really?!” But the trouble is that he is quite fat. Nay, obese. Starting from his thick legs, his whole body is ajitter, but his drooping belly is quite a sight. The jitters cross it in regular waves, and the waves never stop. Sometimes they run against each other thus causing ripples that ricochet back and forth. It is an amazing sight. Although I am doing my best not to look at the man, my eyes trick me every now and then. But the real prize comes when he gets up from his armchair to go to the toilet. Standing up, he looks like a pear. And the belly shakes and wobbles and shivers and bounces and quivers and shudders with every single step. At this point, I cannot but stare at that amazing belly. My eyes wide open, I stare at it in awe. It is ajitter for true. My just reward for coming to the pub for a mere cup of green tea.