I smeared the salad cream all over her breasts. Which was – I admit now – a bit of a mistake. After all, at the time, we had not been properly introduced, and it was rather a cold morning as we stood there, in the queue at the bus stop.
I must admit, though, they were – as the arresting officer said at the time – an absolutely smashing pair.
But, time passes, and – if we are lucky – we grow a little bit wiser as we grow older. These days – and it is often appreciated in the bus stop queues I currently frequent – I make a point of bringing the salad cream up to room temperature before I leave the house.
It is – I hasten to add – not a practice I indulge in too frequently. I think it is – almost by necessity – a practice that is best kept for – shall I say – special occasions.
However, having said that, it does seem that the other regulars in the bus queue do themselves seem to be getting rather blasé about the practice too. One morning, when she saw me striding purposefully down the road towards the bus stop, clutching a jar of my favourite salad cream – Mrs Toadwrencher (who lives in the flat above the bread shop) had already begun to unfasten her coat and blouse, despite it still being only February.
Sometimes you can’t help being proud to be British.