Happy birthday, dear (it looks like this is your present)

I went to Norwich to buy birthday presents for my husband. He’s lovely and puts up with me and so is deserving of nice things.

By lunch time I had bought myself some Guerlain make-up, a lovely pair of shoes and spent half-an-hour playing in the John Lewis odds-and-ends section. This is where the shop displays many interesting things you don’t need but are simply irresistible.

I rang a desk bell... very like the one on reception in Fawlty Towers:


Then there were about six hour-glass sand timers that needed to be turned over and checked for accuracy.

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“Are you okay, there?” asked a Lewis’s specially trained be-nice-to-mad-possibly-dangerous-middle-aged-women store assistant who had obviously been watching me for a bit.

“Yes, thank you,” I said in my best posh voice as another woman of about my age walked past and rang the reception bell.

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So, after three hours roaming the stores, backstreet emporia and markets; weary and footsore all I needed now was birthday presents for my husband.

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