Tuesday, 21 July 2009



I have already described how, on Saturday, I drove to the Midlands and stopped for petrol and snacks, and the Finest Swordsman in France accidentally bought alcohol-free beer.

Yesterday morning I got a call from a Detective Inspector at the local police station, asking if I am the owner of green Morris Traveller, registration blah blah.

"Yes", I say, going into worry mode.

"I've had a report from the Tesco garage on Southmead Road that you drove away without paying for fuel. The CCTV shows that there were several people in the car, and that you went into the shop... do you have a receipt?"

I rummage in my purse. There is a receipt from Tesco. Hmm, let's see. Pringles, check. Cadbury's Eclairs, check. Cherry Coke, check. We like to eat healthily when driving, you know.

No petrol though.

The DI and I agree that the best thing to do would be to go along to the filling station. So I do, and the manager is nice about it, and I pay for the petrol.

Must look more carefully at the till display next time, evidently.

While I'm out and about, I pop over to the Cribbs Causeway shopping mall because I'm nearly there by now, and I want some calcium supplement tablets after learning about the leaching of calcium from bones that you get from drinking carbonated water (thank you, Larry, for alerting me to this problem).

So I get them from Boots the Chemist, and look for a pair of socks while I'm at it, to go with my ultra-comfy Conker boots. Which by now I am longing for, as I came out wearing smart (well, smart for me) pumps, as I'd been seeing someone at the bank earlier. And my ingrowing toenail was hurting like fury; I ended up taking my shoes off and walking without them. Though I put them on again when I entered M&S. Funny how it feels relatively acceptable to be barefoot while out and about, but I feel self-conscious about it if I'm in a shop.

I check out the hosiery section. Nothing very exciting. I look in the men's department, as I've not looked in there for quite some time, and I have big feet, and you never know, they might have what I'm looking for. Long socks, knee length even, to go with my boots.

There are some quite nice socks. They even come in pink. Crikey. I get some red ones though.

The woman at the counter smiles and asks me, "Are they for him or for you?"

"We'll fight over them," I say.