Meet Mrs FOGHORN

A charity shop customer gets an icy reception

- Rosie x

I really don’t like to bother you with my little troubles because I suspect you have troubles of your own, and you know what they say: a problem shared is two people worrying unnecessary.

The thing is, it’s really, really cold in the charity shop at the moment. Even when the feeble spring sunshine is doing its best outside, none of the warmth seems to make it through the front door.

‘Have you got thermals underneath your jeans?’ I asked my colleague Grace, as we stood by the counter.

‘Not just thermals,’ she said. ‘I’m wearing thermals under my thermals – and I’m still cold. What’s wrong with this place?’

We have a radiator, but it’s broken and the plumber says he’ll only be able to fix it when Hell freezes over. Or in three weeks, whichever is sooner.

So the only reliable source of heat in the shop are two large mugs of hot chocolate on the counter, around which we have been huddling for some warmth.

It was as we huddled that a customer entered the shop, shivered a little, assumed a determined expression, and marched up to the counter.

She was in her 50s or early 60s, and had that look which people acquire when they have put in long years of service as a head teacher or a magistrate. Possibly both.