I was standing in the aisle quietly minding my own business loading mind bending amounts of long life milk for the week, there are six of us, into the trolley when I was bumped into. A little old lady apologised. I turned and exchanged the usual, “think nothing of it”, and could not help but realise that she would have only weighed about six stone sopping wet with a woolly jumper on.
She turned, smiled ever so nicely and said, “Oh I recognise you! You’re that nice young man from the BNP aren’t you?”
Being recognised in the community is an every day part of being an active local councillor for the British National Party but at forty two I have not been called a ‘nice young man’ for a while.
What a nice lady!