I lead a pretty nondescript life. The highlight of my working day is when I am offered a lift to the local Tesco superstore, where I can purchase some lunch.
It's an exciting time for me because I never know what I'm going to have. I don't go in with a set menu in mind. No chicken & bacon sandwich and a packet of cheese & onion crisps for me.
My meal is determined largely by what is in the reduced section, which is why it can be as obscure as six slices of chicken roll, a bag of apple pieces and an air freshener.
If the reduced section contains only raw ingredients - a leek and a microwavable shepherd's pie for one, for example - I'm forced to look elsewhere at the 'offers' section.
That's why my lunch quite often consists of a quiche (half-price) and a tub of cottage cheese (two for £1.50).
Today, the journey to Tesco enjoyed even more of a frisson than normal because the ticket machine was out of order necessitating an extra walk across to the far side of the car park.
It is unexpected turns of events such as these which make life so rivetting. That and the sight of a class of school-children being herded across the road by their teacher. While there is nothing unusual in that per se, on this occasion every child was wearing a high-visibility vest, just so they won't get knocked down.
The teachers were allowed to play Russian roulette with the traffic though, which is probably their equivalent of an exciting lunchtime jaunt to Tesco. I said to my chauffeur, Lee, that they looked like a really young apprentice scheme for council workmen.
Yet on the way out of the car park we saw another class of children - they may even have been from the same school - taking the same route wearing nothing more visible than their normal school uniform.
"Do you think I'd be within my legal rights to mow them down?" asked Lee with a laugh.
He didn't attempt it, of course - but it might make for an interesting test case.
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