Red Nose Day
It was Red Nose Day this week and as a result all of the kids red sweat shirts I have been selling for the last two months have just walked out of the door. In certain schools the kids go in dressed head to toe in red. I approve of this silliness, although I have to say that I couldn’t help anyone out with requests for red trousers, it’s a market stall not a circus supplier.
I will be making a donation, not because I sold a load of sweat shirts but because it is a good cause and I always give. If you haven’t, you should. There, you’ve been told.
The one thing that I don’t understand is why the mums wait until the very last minute to buy when they’ve known for weeks that it’s coming up and then look at you like it’s your fault that you’ve no longer got the size they want.
It’s like when they are queueing to pay, looking at you as if to say ‘hurry it up’ and then, when they get to the front of the queue, they start looking through their handbag which is the size of a small moon for their purse.
Then, once they have paid, they ask the immortal question:
“What size did I just buy?”.
That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market Trader. The man on the street. Literally.
