Be warned: the following contains personal minutiae that might be deemed offensive or, possibly, inconsequential.
At about 12.45pm (-ish) Clare and I grab a bite to eat at the Wetherspoon’s pub in Kings Heath. We swap Brum pub war stories, including my elaborate and unproven theory that the decline in the standard of the clientele at a certain city centre branch of a certain national pub chain was not unrelated to the filling-in of a nearby wino-infested traffic island subway. The food was tasty.
Clare decides that we should grab a pair of Boost chocolate bars from a nearby newsagent. At the checkout we’re advised that Boost bars are part of a three-for-the-price-of-two offer. We leave the shop with three Boost bars. Clare scribbles note in my notepad: “3 for £1.09 on Boost Choc Bars – WHAT CREDIT CRUNCH??”
If you find anything in that last paragraph at all interesting you should be ashamed. I am.
At the 11C bus stop on Vicarage Road we see a man who bears a remarkable facial resemblance to the infamous Dr Harold Shipman. He walks past a clinic. We shiver.
Clare scribbles the following faux tabloid headlines in my notepad:
“Doctor Death Alive and Well – Walks Past Birmingham Clinic”
This is followed by:
“Woman in Large Hat or Small Head Mystery”
“Schoolboy Smokes Whilst Wearing Last Season’s Trousers – ‘Can Mother’s Not Afford New Clothes?’ Shocker”
‘Teenage Parent Hides Complete Bus Stop in Pram WHILST SMOKING“
I don’t think Clare is taking this seriously. Either that, or she’s trying to get me to quit smoking. To be on the safe side I don’t light up.
At 1.25 the bus arrives.