There's a bigger story here but I don't have time ...

to tell you right this minute.

Although, the more astute of you may well be able to tell what it is, prior to my recording it formally here, sending out the relevant formal documentation are the inevitable knees up (drink!).

Recently Jim and I were in the local high street. I'll leave it as local, therefore suggesting the slightly threatening pretence that we may well regularly shop nearby to where anyone of you could live.

We wondered into a main stream entertainment technology provider, with the intent of just browsing and possibly with a greater view to stealing a brochure without being overly harassed.

We achieved our first aim rather successfully; the second was doomed to fail from the offset.

As we stood admiring a television that appeared to be the same thickness as the slice of toast I had only finished devouring moments earlier, I noticed a figure amble into the peripheral extremities of "my space". Jim and I were exchanging the usual thinly cloaked attempts at knowing guy chat about a product we knew nothing about, when the sales assistant or personal harassment officer approached.

Within 30 seconds we had exited the store, but not before he had tried all his best sales moves.

He began by attempting to shepherd us round to the television on the other side of the display stand that was 5 inches bigger than the one we had been contemplating. Strangely enough it also appeared to be £300 more expensive as well.

He then snatched up a brochure for us and began to scribble down deals he could do just for us. Funnily enough, all the "deals" he offered appeared to just be the prices already displayed for each product.

Lastly, realising he was not going to make the big sale he had hoped for he tried one last attempt at making sure he would get some kind of commission should we return and purchase one of his shiny silver boxes of joy.

As he passed the glossy brochure to us he scribbled down his name for our reference. All the while he had introduced himself as Dinesh.

Only when he wrote his name down did we realise we had been talking to a guy called "Danish" and had not had the opportunity to mock him with a usual wit and biting sarcasm.

We departed the store, covering our widening grins with our shoulders shaking wildly, arguing whether his last name was Pastry or Bacon.