Looks like we won’t be seeing that nice Mr Cameron in our shop too often now (although my cousin, Vin, has some shops in the Square Mile, so all’s well that ends well, I suppose).
I hope the same will be said about those poor chaps from Tesco. From my little store right round the corner from New Scotland Yard I get to see both politicians and crooks (they are not always one and the same) and while that friendly Andy Street at the John Lewis Commune wants to join the former camp (as Mayor of West Midlands), I worry for those Tesco boys, I really do.
I would have thought years of fully GSCOP-compliant supplier tenderising at Cheshunt would have hardened them to the concept of windowless interrogation cells, but they looked ashen-faced this morning when they popped into Pat’s Mart for a box of Kleenex Mansize Compact (£2.29) and a 500ml bottle of Dr Pepper (89p), so what do I know?
Unfortunately Mr Plod is very occasionally mistaken in his desire to put people in the clink for the heinous crime of being smarter than him, but so far as I’m concerned they are innocent until proven guilty, so we should respectfully let justice take its course without any further comment.
In the meantime I picked up some fantastic wheezes for diddling the various product reps that pop round from time to time. The trick is to agree to sell their stuff, sell it and then forget to give them the money. For a while at least. Then you send them a bill for merchandising their Sherbet Fountains on prime shelf-space (between the Harpic and the Raid). Often as not it turns out they owe you money! I’m £326 up this week - just don’t tell Mr Plod.