The day had dragged unbearably. It had been an oddly quiet December night at the supermarket; the Christmas shoppers presumably had found ample delight in the extended shopping hours in the city centre. They were bothering someone else. There was part joy and part disdain in this realisation as I tidied the pyjama aisle for the seventh time over. Happy pissing Christmas.
An old woman walked into the aisle and started pondering about the dressing gowns. A portly Asian woman wearing a Christmas hat rolled in from the other end and stood, panting, next to the pyjama bottoms. They were pink and fluffy: like giant marshmallows gone horribly wrong. I was trapped for the time being and so turned my attention to the pants that someone had taken the time to dump behind my nicely sized pyjama sets. I would have grumbled, but was so numb from the never-ending boredom that sticking an electric whisk in my own eye would have been a preferable distraction. I was glad to have something to do. I turned to put the pants on my rail.
Suddenly the old woman appeared at my elbow, ‘Do you see her?!’
‘The woman!’ She quickly peeked over my shoulder, ‘That woman over there!’
‘I’ve seen her somewhere before… in the paper! She was in the paper! She’s been stealing pregnancy tests from the chemists and selling ‘em off down Donnington Market! There was a “Have You Seen This Woman?” thing in the paper!’
‘Yes, really! I swear it’s her! She’s the same build… she’s even wearing the same hat. The same hat! What are you waiting for? Go and get a Telegraph, girl, quick!’ Continue reading