On milk

On milk

What kind of plank, I ask, do they employ at Tesco these days?

I fear the answer may be "short, thick ones".

"Do you want a bag for that?" asks the girl at the till, a young lady clearly unencumbered by any sort of life experience.

I hold, in my hands, nothing but a six-pint bottle of semi-skimmed milk.

"No thanks. I'll be drinking it now."

And then the moment that makes you stop dead in your tracks. Her look of surprised innocence, and the single word:

"Really?"

There's only one thing for it – The Jeremy Clarkson Voice.

"Yes. Yes I am."

There is a pause as I await my change and there receipt which proves to the powers-that-be that I haven't wasted all my money on cheese spread and flip-flops. The kind of pause that certain people – planks, if you will – feel they've just got to fill.

"Well – go on then."

I fled.


Show us your money

Some of my esteemed colleagues are cycling to London next week in aid of Help For Heroes. If you're feeling generous, you may sponsor them HERE. Anyone mad enough to cycle through the capital deserves at least a tenner...