Spoilt for choice.

Having just been to raid B's savings account to pay for the repairs on her car - precisely the sort of emergency the savings account was created for - we were then accosted by a series of youngsters on the pedestrian precinct that is Kingston High street all holding clip boards.

One of my pet hates. Shouldn't be really. They're only trying to make a living. But do they have to sound quite so supercilious, as if you are a bad human being if you don't stop? Seldom does "I don't have the time, sorry" seem to put them off. "...it'll only take a couple of minutes" they say in a tone that ought to have "...you miserable bastard!" tacked on the end.

We smile. Way too polite to say what we're really thinking.

We escape into a café for a late lunch. Another pet hate confronts us - menus with small writing. Even worse when the sun is shining bright and you can't take off your sunglasses, as then it turns into a fashion disaster, hey B?