Off to the upmarket hardware store to buy a stainless steel tap for the kitchen. The fancy designer has given 'The Font' the model number. All we have to do is pick it up and pay for it.
The man behind the counter doesn't want to be bothered. He studiedly ignores us in the hope we'll go away. Finally, hopes dashed, he raises his head and says 'Yes ? ' in a way that indicates that customer service is not his forte. 'The Font' explains why we're there. The man listens and yawns. '' How am I supposed to know about your tap ? " . He's given the paper on which the order number and the model number are written. He looks at the piece of paper and purses his lips. There is a moments silence. The man looks at the note, turns it on its side and looks at it again. Finally he turns it over and looks at the back. After a brief pause he announces '' there's no such order and there's no such product . I would know". And with that he stands up and walks away.
Sometimes one is reminded that Anglo-Saxons don't comprehend the finer elements of rudeness.
Suitably chastened we go to the local DIY hypermarket store and spend twenty minutes choosing a tap. Whoever knew there were so many different types ? Angus is delighted that the one we've chosen is a fifth of the price of the one that we were supposed to collect from the 'fancy' supplier. Every cloud has a silver lining.
The effects of Sophie's haircut are more obvious this morning. Both on her chest...and on her muzzle. Her brother remains unshorn. Both exude happiness. Perhaps Bob a little more than his sister.