It was Sunday morning and I was grumpy enough, filling up my mum’s car. It was one of those petrol stations which is also a supermarket, so you run the risk of joining a queue of people bearing baskets of slightly overpriced groceries. This is a dreadful thing to happen when all you want to do is pay for some fuel. Dreadful.

I was fourth in the queue. There was only one person serving, a young woman. There was something unusual about her. When the faffer at the front of the queue had finally paid for his Viakal, his........

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