PROXIMITY MAN

"Nice dog," I observed as we swung into a parking space. "What is it, Spaniel or something?"

“Labradoodle," came the correction from the dog experts in the back.

"Oh. Nice though."

The dog was emptying itself from the car in front of ours, controlled by the smallest and palest of three children who, in turn, were controlled by a couple who looked like they too were on the way back from a relaxing self-catering holiday in an idyllic corner of Scotland, i.e. tense and irritable.

NEW COAT

A couple of weeks ago, while holidaying on the luxury island resort of Arran on the Costa del Clyde, me and the woman I call my wife dared to think the unthinkable.

I don’t even think we’d taken alcohol.  There was no excuse, except perhaps an uncharacteristic fit of joie de vivre brought on by some unseasonably clement weather.  We decided we were going to buy coats with North Face written on them.  Coats with three-figure price tags, boasting as much technology as the International Space Station, but far more desirable to get into to.  Because it suddenly occurred to us that it’s what people like us do; save thirty quid a week by shopping at Aldi then blow two month’s savings on a coat that keeps us warm at -30ºC.