Mrs D Hayden to the counter, please

I breezily waltzed out the Dymocks’ stationery store, holding a Dymocks' plastic bag in one hand and gazing with pleasure at some birthday cards in the other. Admiration turning into castigation upon realisation that i'd acquired yet another plastic bag when

Clunk, clunk, clunk

That plastic bag accompanied the book I had earlier purchased in the main section and in fact the cards were sans bag because I had actually not bought them, I’d lifted them!!!

Thus explaining why in-the-Winona-Ryder the Dymocks’ security alarms were ringing.

O M G

I quickly spun around and raced back into the shop, not quite shouting “oh, it’s me! Sorry, turn off the alarms" but if anyone had looked at me they would have read that thought, and if not at least paused to admire the handsome moustache that I’ve grown for the month – it’s faintly ginger and narrow with its ends waxed and twisted upwards, and no doubt not dissimilar from Cold Mountain’s ....I have heard that she was taunted with Ranga at school; wonder if that was alternated with Fanta Pants?

Oh enough of the japes from the old schoolyard. Don’t say vjayjay or I will have to stuff a handkerchief in my mouth to prevent my collapsing into giggles... (ugh what a solution, so Blytonian and unhygienic; St Clare's was the first school to have an outbreak of meningiccocal, not many people know that!!)

So yeah where was I?

Oh, yes, back at the counter paying for the birthday cards. I confessed to the staff that I had walked out without paying and set off the sirens. All they did was smile, with me, of course.