What's with the BISCUITS?

Jammie Dodgers herald change at the charity shop

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A very odd thing happened at the charity shop on Thursday.

'I've brought in some biscuits,' said Adam, our acting manager, with an apologetic smile. 'I spotted a packet of Jammie Dodgers and I just couldn't resist them. I haven't seen them since I was about 13. But I also have plain chocolate digestives.' You might not think that biscuits - even Jammie Dodgers - are so very odd, even by charity shop standards, but it's as if Henry VIII had suddenly renounced the throne to become a marriage guidance counsellor. It's as if Satan had become a Methodist.

As if Bertie Wooster had been caught holding up a post office with a sawn-off shotgun.

'Hmm,' said my colleague Wendy, muttering under her breath. 'What's that all about, do we think? It's almost as if he's had a personality transplant.' This is the same Adam, you see, who had previously frowned upon biscuits at break time because he felt, as an employer of sorts, he had a personal responsibility for our health.

This is the same Adam, foisted upon us by our sister shop, who wanted to get rid of him, who spoke of our high-moral purpose and generally lived up to his nickname of The Vicar.