New Year's Eve and the shops in My Kind of Town are heaving.
Mr Grigg and I go from Lidls to Morrisons, shadowed by a gabbling gipsy family looking for bargains on the salmonella shelf. Mr Grigg hovers closely behind them, puts in a hand and pulls out a tray of pigs in blankets.
'That'll do for tonight,' he says, plucking two half price pork pies and a packet of twelve loaded potato skins from the refrigerated unit.
He pulls away from the crowd, the spoils under his arm. The gipsy family look suitably impressed.
I struggle to find prunes and cocktail sticks and go back and forth, passing a man who smells like he hasn't had a wash in years who is pondering over whether to buy a 'value' pack of digestives to go with his two tins of new potatoes.
After the fifth time of wandering up and down the same aisles, I finally ask a disinterested man stacking shelves. He mutters to himself as if he's remembering the winning numbers of the lottery from a dream. At last he says: 'Aisles 14 and 15', without even giving me eye contact. Yet when Mr Grigg asks where the condensed milk is, a rather large female assistant smiles and says: 'Follow me', seduction written all over her full moon face.
Mr Grigg is a charmer, a man with whom men want to get drunk and women fall in love.
I shall be watching him closely this New Year's Eve, and staying very sober.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
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