Not Guilty.

There was a typically petite Chinese woman stacking shelves in one of the charity shops in Uttoxeter today. Her hair was tied back, but that didn’t hide the fact that it was long, jet black, luxuriant, and shimmering. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

She noticed me casting long gazes in her direction, smiled and said ‘Hello. Are you all right?’ What could I do but speak the truth?

‘I find Chinese women’s hair fascinating,’ I said.

The smile faded and was replaced by a look of mild suspicion. Again, what could I do but speak the truth?

‘It’s so lovely,’ I continued.

The smile returned – with the teeth this time.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, and then turned and walked away.

Was that creepy? No, of course not. For a start it was simply a statement of truth. Besides, she was neither particularly young nor particularly pretty, and so I had no reason to play the ageing Lothario role. And that’s my best attempt at gaining absolution.

It was raining heavily at the time.