You couldn't make me up....

Today I was physically assaulted by a woman in John Lewis a well known department store....

There I was, innocently dousing myself in ludicrously expensive perfume at one of the cosmetic counters, when I was ambushed by a wee wifey wielding a bottle of gunk serum.

Madam!, she shrieked. Your skin looks very dry. Sit, sit, sit!! And she manhandled me onto a high stool surrounded by lights and mirrors. She then proceeded to sigh heavily and mutter dry, dry to the crowd that had suddenly gathered round me. They all nodded in agreement, clearly saddened by my lack of moisture.

Firstly, she slapped about a tenner's worth of retinol/collagen/peptides/vitamins/eye of newt onto my wrinkles, tutting constantly. The chorus crowd tutted too, in the manner of people sitting round a guillotine in 18th century France.

After filling the cracks in my face with some plaster of Paris and creosote, she graffitti'd me with lurid green eyeliner and a blusher that you could have spotted from the international space station.

Delighted with her own artistry, she wouldn't unchain me until I'd bought perfume, mascara, moisturiser, lip salve, eyeshadows and a concealer that I neither wanted nor needed. I was forced into spending approximately a year's wages just to stop the crowd from turning feral!

At least.......that's what I'm telling the bank manager*.