The daily grind

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The daily grind
London, United Kingdom

London, United Kingdom


After Pete headed off to football (he actually plays soccer but I don’t have the heart to tell him), Vic and I enjoyed a cruisey day of errand running around south London. Not too many things of note other than a delicious crepe lunch at The Brick in Brixton Village followed by a bizarre shopping expedition to Morley’s department store across the road.

Having recently acquired a spiffing new cafetiere (it’s actually a coffee plunger or french press but I don’t have the heart to tell them), Vic and Pete were in the market for a coffee grinder. We browsed Morley’s available selection, cross checked the prices with the barcode scanner app on my phone and made a choice. Upon presenting the item at the register, Vic was asked for ID! Apparently because it has a blade, you have to be over 18 to buy it. We both missed the bit on the box where it mentioned the dual function of grinding beans and cutting up people!

Already bemused, Vic showed her drivers licence to the sales assistant who scrutinised it closely before calling over a colleague to authenticate it. She thought it was fake because she didn’t believe Vic was anywhere near her actual age. Ordinarily, that might be flattering but there was clearly no compliment intended here – just an kooky kind of suspicion that led to a strange interrogation as to whether Vic worked out, used skin care and what exactly was the nature of the relationship between Vic and I – were we sisters? Much to her chagrin, the sales assistant eventually had to release us to our own recognisance and let us abscond with the lethal appliance. I got the feeling that she’ll be keeping a close eye on Vic though.

We killed three people on the way home.


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