Undercover

This bloke came in to buy some pants. He'd really long, scruffy, dirty hair and food stains all over his clothes. Well, l hope it was food.

He had double crutches and was wearing pyjama bottoms, with the fly area a bit crusty looking and soiled. Jeez. I looked around to see if one of the blokes was free to deal with him but, hell no. Don't judge, I told myself, trying not to touch his debit card too much. Transferable bugs.

'Sorry to keep you waiting. Busy morning. Would you like these taken out of the boxes?'

He had around £100 of posh socks in his arms, and eight pairs of designer briefs.

'I'll only wear them at home'. Eh?

I stuffed everything into our carrier bag, and after he'd paid, l forced myself to treat him like a clean customer, looking in his eyes. Bloody hell. It's only thingmybob from telly. What's occurring, fella?

For one second, l knew that he knew l recognised him. It was the weirdest gaze. Anyway. I won't be divulging, so don't even ask.

No one knows what's going to become of any of us.

Just saying ..