I popped in to Kim's, the new(ish) barbers in Central Road. The whole thing happened so fast I had to check my reflection in the window on the way out just to make sure that I had actually had my hair cut. Super fast scissorship, Kim.
Then to accompany an impromptu BBQ I called in for some tabbouleh (Lebanese salad to you and me) and other assorted oddments from Ryan Gate. The normally fail safe tactics of pointing to the menu never quite seems to work there and communication invetiably breaks down resulting in me leaving confused and clutching some random items from the menu at a equally unfathomable prices. Perhaps I was supposed to haggle? Still, all part of the lucky dip of shopping Ryan Gate style.
Then it all went horribly wrong on Sunday. I did something that I am deeply ashamed of. I know I shouldn't have, but the temptation was there and in a moment of weakness I succumbed. I now feel dirty, used and thoroughly disgusted with myself.
Yes, I went into KFC. But I didn't inhale. I stood patiently in the queue, dodging the screaming toddlers running amok. The stench of dripping fat was overwhelming - and that was just from the obese woman in front of me.
After two minutes in the queue, as the disfunctional family unit ahead of me waddled off clutching their Bargain Buckets and another serving of brown greasy battery-chicken-remains was dredged from the depths of the deep fat frier I came to my senses and legged it back into the fresh air of Worcester Park.
Am I forgiven?