I'm woken by the alarm on my mobile. Nope, I'm not heading into work... I'm hitting the sales with my mum and sister! It's all military precision.
Half an hour into shop number one and my lower back is twinging and I've yawned at least three times. ATTENTION!! Left, right, left, right...
Marks & Spencer is the welcome retreat for a (decaff) cappuccino and sarnies. As I've fought off the enemy in the queue - from tray whackers, to personal space invaders... my sister finds us a table.
Just as I'm dunking my free (and gorgeous) biscuit into my coffee, I'm disturbed. Chairs are flung out the way and I'm in the firing line... a woman, with her eyes firmly on the opposition, is backing towards me with her pram and helpless mum in tow. Lots of bodies are being forced out of the way and I have to scoff my biscuit (damn) to get on my feet and move my chair and myself out of her way. She's only got one thing on her mind... to get out of there alive.
I smile to the back of her head as she spins the pram around, and walks away... with a trail of destruction and scraping chairs. The ten of us who've moved for her receive no thank you and no smile. Rude? YES! Just because you own a pram, does it mean you own the land?!?
"If I ever get like that, shoot me!" I tell my allies.
After a long afternoon avoiding the enemy and picking up a couple of 'bits' from the sales... we head home to refuel again.
Lights Out.
Good toes: Muesli, plenty of water, salmon and stir fry veg
Bad toes: Far too many Celebrations, three Ferrero Rochers and Lindor chocs. Naughty, but nice.
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