Today I was tooling through Ramsgate in the TT when I came across a building with a large sign outside saying 'Aldi'. Remembering that I needed to find somewhere to have the old jalopy serviced in a few weeks, and imagining that the local track-suit-touting grease monkeys had made a kong-size typographical balls-up, I turned into the car park.
Imagine my surprise, then, when the place turned out to be some kind of supermarket! "No matter," I thought. "I'll pop in for a nice Aberdeen Angus or wild Scotch salmon ready meal." But anticipation turned to disappointment when I found the chilled cabinet bare, apart from the odd, mouldy-looking tube of meat paste. In fact the entire place looked decidedly tawdry, so I scarpered toute suite.
As I was making good my escape, a man in a track suit approached me in the car park and held out a bag of what looked like dried leaves. Of course, I ignored him and pressed on to the car. I found out later, however, following a conversation with Angela, that he was probably offering me some kind of narcotics. Must go via Waitrose next time.
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