Picture this…

You will have to because, yet again, I failed to photograph the pic of the year.

And not only did I not get the snapshot, I didn’t even tell you the story. I should be beaten.

So rewind to Saturday’s ‘arrival’ at my mooring if you will. That’s the one; John in the river, big splash, very wet. Now he did have spare clothes for his top half (extra layers in case of cold) but nothing for his bottom. So to speak. Which is all very well by the fire in the cosy confines of Hobo but not exactly de rigueur if one is contemplating a trip to Tesco.

And it seems John was – to buy a new pair of jeans. Did I have anything that would fit him? He asks.

The best I could come up with was a pair of leggings, now a little baggy on me, and some socks. We shoehorned him into said leggings (snug) and, as we hiked across dog dirt alley towards the car, John said he felt a little chilly. Well I think that’s what he said….

My very own Rudolph Nureyev!

Before leaving the car in Tesco’s car park, John asked himself if he was really going to do this. I offered to protect his modesty by nipping in quick myself and buying the jeans while he waited in the car but he decided that as he was with me and not his son TJ (the king of cool) it was OK. I’m still not sure how to take this….

In we both went, arm in arm, this somehow making it alright to be tripping through Tesco – with a man in tights. I didn’t detect any sniggering in the aisles but we did giggle a bit amongst ourselves.

Jeans were located, tried on and taken to the robo-till; we thinking this would be our best chance of a sharp exit, while retaining a modicum of dignity. Think again Rudi…

John handed me (the technical one who has to operate machinery) cash from his wallet which, unsurprisingly, was a little damp. I stuffed it in – it spat it out. I stuffed it in – it spat it out. Nothing if not persistent, I stuffed it in and – Bingo! Third time lucky. Or not…

You can say that again…

Actually, a different message appeared on screen, “don’t give me damp money/freeze, armed police (American software) /what are you wearing?” Or something like that. But it was well and truly shocked into a persistent vegetative state. Bugger, we had to call for help.

There was a very spotty youth nearby who came to our aid. Ever chatty, John told him the story of falling in the river, but got no response. He just kept a straight (but ever so pimply) face and soldiered on in an attempt to retrieve the cash from the mechanism.

“You didn’t say the money was wet” he said, still poker-faced, when eventually he managed to extricate it and un-jam the works. John had to suggest he swap it for some dry stuff from another till, which he duly did and came back to re-set the till. By this time, John had put on the jeans – no doubt bored with the ballet dancer look – only to be told by spot that he had to take them off so they could be re-scanned.

Cue hysterics.

Well we thought it was funny but not once, at any stage, did zit-face crack a smile. Not even a flicker.

But then if I had a case of acne that bad… I probably wouldn’t either.