My mother asked me to pop out to buy the Sunday Times. My decision to look for a copy in the shop half way up the hillside of a small Scottish ski resort was not the best. However, luckily I found one there.
My return home was not easy. First I was chased around the base of the ski lift by a huge metallic dog. Having escaped the beast, I then couldn’t find €1.50 in coins in either of the two big sacks of change (British and European) that I carried wherever I went. I needed this to pay for my tram fare home again.
(I preferred this mode of travel from the three on offer. The other options were to take the London Underground or board a massive red SNCF train.)