The reason for trooping down Marks & Spencer on a Saturday morning escapes me. Something trivial. Something to do with needing food and baby clothes. Normally I wouldn't be seen dead in any shop at that hell-time. This particular Marks & Spencer is probably the hottest place on earth. I'd rather go to the Caribbean in a yeti costume. It is also probably the most over-crowded. Exhausted and grumpy we headed to the café for a recovery period.
In the queue in front of me was an elderly gentleman. He was holding a saucer with a scone and two little tubs of cream and jam. A little old lady tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me," she said, "I think that one is 'display only'". Turned out she had spotted him remove the saucer from the 'display only' section of the buffet table.
"It's probably been out for a few hours," she said.
"A few weeks more like," I said.
She spun round and seized my arm with a deadly pincer-grip. I scribbled down a mental note.
Don't joke with old ladies in Marks & Spencer. They may be small and frail but they are very strong.
Adorning her hand was so much bling that DJ Talent would have suffered a heart attack. Her nails were long and splattered with chipped varnish, exactly the kind of thing that upsets my delicate sensibilities.
"Oooh, cheeky!" she exclaimed and flashed a toothless grin, still gripping my arm. It was one of those moments that stretched out for eternity, leaving me wondering if I would ever escape her grasp. It felt like hours but was probably just a few seconds. I scribbled another mental note.
Don't ever joke with old ladies in Marks & Spencer full stop.