I went to the corner shop today.
You'd probably respond in a heavily ironic tone, "Wow, thanks for telling us that Alex. What exciting tales you could possibly share with us?"
Well I'm about to make you look very silly because it was an eventful trip.
It was about 3PM and I realised that it was pretty late to go and buy the newspapers, but I felt after completing my set work for the day that I had earned a little trip into the sunshine. I was also desperate to read the pearls of wisdom that today's Page 3 model had for us. It turns out that Lucy, 22 from Warwick, disagrees with the 'pasty tax'. I think a career in politics beckons for Lucy, she would certainly gain some electoral support for two distinct reasons.
I set off into the sun wearing a very red get up that comprised of a red Hollister top, some pink and grey Superdry shorts and some red Vans. I was certainly reflecting the weather in my clothes. I like to think that weather/clothing co-ordination can be seen as a strong quality in my personality. It is a gift that probably only around 25% of the population have themselves.
I made it to the shop in quick time and purchased my copy of The Sun and the Daily Mail.
I set off the journey home. It is a journey that I have perfected. I say that because it is quite handy how it is the same route to the shop but just in reverse.
I quickly encountered the first sign of trouble. Two kids were walking to the shop and they just had that look. You know, the look that says, 'I'm a chav and I will say something at you that you wont respond to'.
"Do you like my heart, sir?"
Yes, one of the little chav uttered those very words at me. I was struck by two things. First, why would I like his heart? I mean, it's not like his body is transparent and I could see the intricate network of organs in his body. He clearly didn't understand science. Second, he called me "sir". Of all the little chavs, he certainly seemed to be the most polite of the lot.
I walked off having ignored the polite chav and I soon got the edge of my road and that is when I noticed it sitting proudly on the floor, looking majestic.
It was a £10 note.
I looked around. I sussed out my environment. Was there someone in the area who may have dropped the money? Was I being set up for a TV prank show? Was this £10 even real?
I picked up the £10 note and took it home considering my next move. Do I hand it in to the police station like a model citizen or do I pocket it for myself?
I consulted my Mum on the issue when she returned home. "Keep it!" was her quick response. I decided that she was probably correct, plus £10 can go a long way.
I have decided to save the £10 for my next trip to the pub. Each sup of Thatchers Gold will taste even better knowing that it was free.