‘Ere Love, Fancy Some Spotted Dick?’

Marching into Morrisons’ with my ten-year-old daughter and her friend last week I was both amused and bemused to notice a bland looking Sky rep at the door. First, he hustled the girls; did they want to ‘Upgrade to Sky Premium?’ who did not register he’d even spoken., although I expect this sort of practice is the norm—after all, she does get personal mail asking her if she’d like a £25,000 unsecured loan, cheap car insurance and a Roll-It-All-Into-One-Humungous-Debt Bouncy Orange Credit Card. So why shouldn’t she Upgrade to Sky Premium?

Once I’d waltzed through the double doors, he says again (deadpan), ‘Upgrade to Sky Premium, M’am?’


Without a bat of his practiced eye he counters blandly, ‘Do you have Sky at all, M’am?’ I was reminded for a split second of the old-fashioned markets we used to read about as kids. (‘E’re love, fancy some spotted dick?’)

No hesitation. ‘Not this little black duck.’ At this I chanced a peek—I couldna’ hep meseff, and besides, the girls had ducked off into the loos muttering and giggling about annoying bra’s (at 10?)  So I figured I’d need 3 full minutes entertainment. Normally I would just stand about and watch other people castigating their kids/husbands or smiling cheekily at the auld boys left hovering uncomfortably holding the wife’s shiny red handbag outside the Women’s, but today the bitterly cold wind saw that nobody except me and Mr. Sky were within coo-ee of those automatic doors.

‘Er…You’ll want to sign up to Sky, then?’

‘No.’ No sign of the girls. ‘Actually’ I was almost enjoying myself—almost. ‘I don’t really watch TV at all.’ I saw it then…a decent response at last. His lips curled back (ever so slightly, I swear) and began to expose his front teeth—which came as a surprise for one would have assumed that he wouldn’t have any teeth left after all that sitting, eating and Sky Premium watching).

So, as he gaped at me, (as much as one could showing only 2 mm of teeth), he whispered, ‘What did you say…? No Sky at all?’ he was casting his eyes about worriedly—dear God in Heaven, what if someone hears this? He even missed three potential customers in his anxiety. He’d surely have blessed himself had he known how. Then I saw it. The shutters came down over his eyes. The blinders & blinkers. You could see him chanting his mantra, ‘It’s going to be alright…everything’s going to be alright…’ Don’t look at her…Don’t look at her mocking you…

Fair enough…anyway, the girls had emerged from the toilets, trainer-bra’s intact (or off) and ready to shop, when my husband walked through the doors. And the Reps’ eyes turned to him eagerly, though my husband doesn’t have Sky either… 


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