Having not eaten for almost 48 hours, I'd spent the time between the removal guys loading up their compulsorily battered Ford Transit and the moment I was handed the keys to the new flat stuffing my face with a huge fried breakfast at a greasy spoon cafe located happily close to my new home.
This was a mistake.
The agent gave me the keys and I let myself into the freshly decorated hallway. I spent a little while skipping from room to room, pausing only to save "Mine!" in each (aside from First-Born's, in which I said her name.) This didn't take long.
I called the removal men. They had, in that great British tradition, gone to lunch and would doubtless appear in about 90 minutes, smelling faintly of beer. Oh well, there was no hurry.
It was at this point that my stomach began to protest and the nature of my mistake made itself known. I barely made it to the bathroom in time to 'christen it'. The more perceptive of you will be able to guess my next problem. The flat was brand new and totally empty. It was devoid of all the items one normally associates with a bathroom.
I considered my options. On the floor in front of me was my jacket, containing keys, mobile telephones and wallet. A way forward presented itself to me.
And that, my friends, is how I can tell you that till receipts from Waitrose are far softer and more absorbent than those from Tesco, which are shiny and quite prickly.
I wonder if they'll use that fact in their advertising campaign?
