Remember me saying in an earlier post that I always make for
the checkout where the youngest and prettiest of the female operators is
working? It’s not always true. If I see a new checkout operator who is young, female
and ugly, I make a point of going through her aisle and engaging her in friendly
conversation because I don’t suppose many people do. I mean, it can’t be very
nice being young, female and ugly, can it?
And that’s how I do my bit to help the disadvantaged feel
they belong, which just goes to demonstrate that I’m not the lecherous ne’er-do-well
that some people might imagine. Not that my mother would agree with that
assessment. I don’t remember many of my mother’s statements verbatim, but one
which stuck in my head was:
‘I saw how you looked at that girl in the fairground at
Great Yarmouth. Just like yer bloody father!’
I put it down to the fact that my father’s ancestry was
Irish on the male side, whereas my mother’s had more of a Welsh component. The
Welsh are traditionally chapel people, you see, which they feel gives them the
moral high ground over the more Catholic-oriented Irish. That’s the
difference.
(And I'm doing my level best to be inflamatory here. Somebody yell at me, please.)
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