Waitrose on Western Road. The checkout lady asks me if I’ll need some bags. I ask for two.
The woman in the queue behind me, the sort of forty-something social worker type who puts the ‘right on’ into Brighton tuts. She then chides me for not bringing reusable bags: ‘we all need to make small changes to save the planet.’ I pack my groceries up, and eye what Ms Righton is buying (two bottles of wine, strawberries, asparagus, two newspapers and a big cake) and saunter out to walk home slightly cross.
I dawdle a bit before I walk up the hill home past the Waitrose car park entrance where a big shiny volvo containing only the driver is edging out. The driver waves me across the entrance: it’s Ms Righton. I think of a few small changes she might like to make.