I noticed that my donation was still not on display several days after I left it for sale at the charity shop. In fact, it looked like the shop was possibly out of business. I was pretty sure that the bag lady who slept in its doorway hadn’t been moved for days.
I peered into the shop window and spotted that it only opened on Tuesdays. This was hopeless. How would my donation sell if the shop only welcomed customers on one day of the week? There was nothing else for it but to break into the shop to retrieve ‘my’ stuff: a straw basket, two cashmere cardigans, and my purple crocheted cardigan. (I was now wondering why I ever considered giving away all these lovely items?)
Then I found my old red Peugeot 205 and drove into town, uninsured. I knew that I would be in terrible trouble if I had an accident, and when I crashed through a barrier at a level crossing just as a train approached I really thought that this would be the end.
However, I made it safely over the other side, abandoned the car for a tricycle, and pedalled over the green and orange crocheted fields to the seaside.