It Comes In Threes, or, A Succession Of Narrow Squeaks

Ah, those moments in life when you realise you've just made the right decision - in my case this morning, not tutting loudly or otherwise pushing out of the way the little girl buggering about in front of the cash-point, as I turned round to discover she belonged to my boss! Ahem.

The day was obviously getting into its stride, as a few minutes later the blond moppet of about twelve on the till decided he'd ask me for ID (was buying two bottles of wine). Of course, not driving, I don't have any. He looked embarrassed, I looked embarrassed (and probably somewhat desperate), and he appealed to the woman on the other till behind him. "Yeah, I should think so" she declared, much to my relief. "Sorry!" said the moppet, repeatedly, following up with "it was either really young or really old". Er, excuse me? No, never mind, I probably don't want you to elaborate.

It was later on in the day, coming out of a cafe on the High Street, that I was nearly mown down by an urchin free-wheeling at speed down the hill. I probably owe him an apology, as I'd looked for cars, but not noticed the bike, and he produced an impressive squealing of tyres and fishtailing of bike to avoid me, before shouting "this is a road you know", as he carried on into the distance. Being rather startled, I instinctively shouted "fuck off!" after him. Ah yes, I'm known for my razor-sharp wit.