I was at a cash point today, and every so often it beeped to tell me:
Here’s your card returned
Here’s your cash
Here’s your receipt
(Although it isn’t a receipt at all, of course, since you haven’t supplied the machine with anything. It’s actually a transaction slip, but that’s bankers for you. Their forte is daylight robbery; their use of English sometimes leaves a lot to be desired – like subjecting the odd banking executive to public execution, for example.) But anyway…
I noticed that the beeping was being echoed by a human voice behind me, so I turned around to assess its source. There was a little man going beep-beep, beep-beep every time the machine did, and when I turned to look at him, he said ‘Heh, heh. It’s all beeps these days, isn’t it?’
I wasn’t in the mood for trivial repartee, and I decided he’d stolen my line anyway – apart from the ‘heh, heh,’ that is – so I ignored him and moved on. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?
I like being rude to people occasionally, but I don’t do it anything like often enough. It’s a fault I inherited from my mother.
Other Ashbourne News:
1. We’re to get a fourth supermarket. Hooray.
2. The woman in the pet shop where I buy the wild bird food is interested in existentialism. That came as a surprise.
3. Rosie, the (relatively) new checkout operator in Sainsbury’s, has old soul eyes. I like old soul eyes.
And that’s about it. I’ve had enough of today, so I’m going to bed. (I’ve usually had enough of today about ten minutes before I get up.)