I purchase a rather striking shirt and am cheeked by a shop girl.

Wonderfully Pooterish scene today – and isn’t Pooter the spiritual ancestor of all bloggers? *

Feeling flush having being paid I sauntered into town and headed for my usual gents’ outfitters – British Heart Foundation’s charity shop.  There, rifling through the racks of worn out Blue Harbour polo shirts, I spotted the most splendid shirt that seemed to have my name written on it (actually it was Ralph Lauren’s name, not mine – but better still).  In line with my drive to reduce the monochrome factor in my wardrobe it seemed to contain most, if not all, of the colours of the rainbow – and good as new!  in my exact size! 

Taking it to the counter, heart full of hope –

Shopgirl: that’s a bright shirt!

Me: yes.

Shopgirl (incredulous): is it for you?

Me: yes

Shopgirl (struggling to understand this strange occurrence): are you going on holiday?

Me: no.

Shopgirl (stifling giggles): no-one will recognise you!

Me: ?

Shopgirl (handing me the shirt): good luck!

Me: !!!

* “Why should I not publish my diary?  I have often seen reminiscences of people I have never even heard of, and I fail to see – because I do not happen to be a “Somebody” – why my diary should not be interesting.  My only regret is that I did not commence it when I was a youth”.


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