Slight gap in Saturday schedule between laundry and nail taming, so popped up the High St in Westgarth for a quick nose around the arty farty designy shops. One second hand dealers near Ruckers Hill is run by an interesting woman of the older persuasion. As soon as I entered the cramped space that was the shop, filled with all manner of knick knacks, I was greeted by said manageress.

'Hello, love, good afternoon' she said.

'Hi there' I said, 'how are you?'

There was a pause.

'How am I? HOW AM I? If another person asks me that today I am going to get so angry. Honestly you don't know me, why would you ask me that?'

'Um, er, um...' I simpered, backing into a stack of mothballed fur coats and metre high stacks of 1950s newspapers.

'But love, why do people ask that? people who don't know me shouldn't ask how I am they don't want to know. Why don't they just say hello or good day?'

I inched toward the door, where I was relieved to see a couple come in. I winced, but she laughed as all he commented to her was: 'Surely, this place is a bit bare isn't it?'

I wonder if I am a bit mad looking as well, as I sit here in my hot rollers, dressing gown and a fag in the ashtray, but at least I am in the comfort of my own home. I fully intend to be an old eccentric one day, but think perhaps she takes it a little far; which is a shame because I am very fond of one of the old phones in the window but am too scared to go in again.