In the local shop waiting in line for one of two women at the checkout with a pound of mince and Burgen Soya and linseed bread - I make a conscious decision.
One woman, the sort that calls you 'Love' or 'Sweetheart or 'Pet', from previous experience definitely thinks I'm not the full shilling.
So I'm going to make an effort to be relaxed, light, chatty, vaguely normal, despite labouring under the negative projection of her own ghastly unconscious mind.
"That's two pounds thirteen, love"
I produce a handful of change in a grimy hand and count it.
"You've given me one pound thirty two.' she intones.
Somehow I have mistaken a twentypence piece for a pound coin...
(Definitely not the full shilling that guy.)
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