What are you doing this weekend?

Over on his blog, Nick writes that a new survey reveals that many people lie about what they do on weekends. Ha! Poor sad souls. Unfortunates who don't lead the sort of thrilling life that is mine. Now you're probably going to think that I've made this up but, honest ponest, this is absolutely true.

This morning I was in town by 9.30 to go Christmas shopping with Younger Son. Now you couldn't make that, could you?

And the difference between H&M (trendy young store) and M&S (trying to think of a good description - might come back to this) is a big cushion.

For sitting on while waiting outside the changing room.

And I am reminded of a story.

When I was a little girl my mum worked with a lady who had seen better days but who had still wealthy relatives who lived in Pangbourne, near Reading. Their house was on the Thames riverbank and they owned horses. Somehow these relatives invited my mum (and me) to stay with them in this terribly grand house. My idea of a nightmare but my mum loved it; she was very sociable.

So, one evening, I'd been packed off to bed and my mum was enjoying herself at a cocktail party. (Cocktail party? In Swansea in the fifties such fripperies were unheard of.) She began chatting to a gentleman who politely asked where she was from. My mum said Swansea and he replied, 'Oh, Swansea, yes, I have a little shop down there.'

'Really?' said my mum. 'What's the name? I might know it.'

'Marks & Spencer's.'

Them and us.

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Words written on novel today so far: 662.