WHAT is it with the type of middle aged women you get working in charity shops?
Why are they so grumpy and, in some cases, seemingly insane?
I was wondering around the shops looking for some Crimbo cards the other lunchtime when I got a very icy reception from an old biddy in a charity shop.
(I’d been looking for cards with Our Lady and the baby Jesus on them – but of course they have been virtually censored out of existence by the nasty, liberal-fascist, multicultural fundamentalists who wield such influence these days.)

Anyway I was browsing in this charity shop when my mobile went off. I answered it. It was the editor of a newspaper I used to work for, wanting to know if I would write a column piece for her paper in the New Year.
Obviously, I made polite chit-chat for a while, before quickly arranging a deadline and wordcount for the column and a fee, and then saying ta-ra and Happy Christmas and all that.
I ended the call, put my mobile back into my pocket and contentedly continued browsing. A Harris tweed jacket had caught me eye.
But the woman behind the shop counter came barging right up to me all agitated. She had the sort of face that would frighten a police horse, as they say in Wigan.
Also, she appeared to have been sucking lemons. Well, either that or her face was specially twisted with venom and hatred for little old me.
“Excuse me,” she said, tartly. “If your phone goes off again would you mind stepping outside. It really is very monotonous to hear you talking on it in here. You’ve been speaking on that thing for ten minutes.”
I was flabbergasted by her cheek, especially as she had one of those bossy voices I normally associate with teachers who go on too many assertive courses and end up more twisted than a lighthouse stairs.
Did this dreadful Harpy expect me to step out onto the frosty pavement just to answer my mobile? And I certainly wasn’t talking on it for ten minutes. More like three.
And how she dare say I sounded monotonous. “Monotonous … monotonous, I say, MONOTONOUS, me?!”
Actually I have charming speaking voice, most mellifluous and quite posh-sounding … for a Wiganer.
I tell you, this unpleasant incident fair spoiled the good mood that's been upon me of late, my Christmas spirit.
I was tempted to let this woman have the sharp edge of my tongue, but I thought better of it. Well, it really isn’t my style to cause a scene or have an argy-bargy (are you sure? Ed.)
Instead, I decided to keep my dignity intact. I simply gave her one of my famous black looks, which can be seriously wounding to those of a tender or bland disposition.
I held her gaze for several seconds, remaining as serene as a Buddhist, then said to her quietly and slowly: “I am staggered by your rudeness. You are a very rude woman.” Then I walked out of the shop.
If I had been a peevish sort of guy, I would have asked for her name and made an official complaint to her "employers" about her bad attitude.
But there is no way I would ever do that.
Dobbing someone in to their boss is one of the very lowest and most despicable forms of human behaviour.

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