Planet Mad

After duty, blogging and faffing, I set off for a spot of people-watching at Tesco. OK, so I also picked up a copy of Private Eye, a bottle of milk and a knife sharpener, but I was more interested in observing the life going on around me.

There was the lady wheelchair user, waiting patiently for the men crowded round the 'reduced to clear' chilled shelving to move; she said, "These men, they're worse than women when there's a bargain on offer."

Two men had just finished their shifts at work. Their high visibilty jackets, security badges and steeel toecaps spoke of heavy labour and aching backs.

A couple were arguing next to the split peas: a domestic over who paid the mortgage. It continued right to the checkout, and spilled out into the night air.

The old man with the missing teeth and two-day stubble was perusing the baked goods, searching for cheap bread, whistling under his breath.

The professional classes were represented by a young man, smartly dressed in a snappy suit, creased with thought-lines around the eyes and forehead.

And in the midst of all this normality, where was I? I wandered the aisles in a random fashion. I muttered under my breath as I investigated hair dye. I sang while I browsed the CDs. I laughed with excitement when I saw the new Terry Pratchett book. I fondled the croissants, debating out loud the relative merits of chocolate and almond pastries. I tried to catch the eye of the good-looking bloke at the next queue, but he studiously avoided my gaze.

People-watching, my arse. I was more of a spectacle than all of them put together. I hereby declare it to be "people-baiting".