In the supermarket the other day I was quietly weighing the frozen peas to make sure I got the fullest pack they had when I was suddenly aware that a woman whose bosom looked like the love child of the Atlas mountains and the continental shelf was walking down the aisle towards me seeming determined to take my eye out. Luckily at the last minute, she hung a right, taking out a display of tinned tuna instead, and disappeared down aisle 13.


I returned to the business in hand; there was no way I’d let the supermarket rip me off. I made my selection. I reckoned I had gained at least three peas. Feeling rather pleased with myself I put my handy pocket scales back in my cardigan.

I wandered round to aisle 13 as I was in need of some mascara and hair extensions.

I was greeted by a rather terrifying sight. The lady with the ginormous bazooms had had a garment failure and her embonpoint had  poured from her undercarriage,  pinning a young chap to the floor. Realising he was having difficulty breathing I ran to his aid and grabbing hold of his hair I managed to pull him free from his soft yet surprisingly heavy captors.

As the woman rearranged herself with the aid of some Duck tape and three carrier bags, the young boy whispered in my ear.

“I had other plans for when I reached puberty, but I think I might have to go down the gay route now.”

I patted him on the shoulder and explained he might not have a choice.

I’m not sure he believed me.

(You should have gone back for the hair extensions, Peabrain – there’s a definite pale patch. Lo,TG Ed)