Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (read novels website .TXT) 📗

“Also, what’s the half-pence thing? This bottle of Vosene shampoo has a sticky label saying it’s twenty-nine and a half pence. Do I have to buy two things that are a halfpenny so it rounds up?”

“Martin, you’re making a dick of yourself.” I fished out a halfpenny and gave it to him, which he studied as if he’d discovered a first-century Roman coin.

“Martin, this is 1977. I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you to get a grip, but it’s over forty years in the past. Things were different!”

“That’s ’im. That’s the strange bloke I was telling you about. He said he was from Candid Camera. I reckon he’s lying.”

I swivelled around to find the pink-headscarf-curler lady pointing as she stood next to a middle-aged man in a shirt and tie. His badge, printed on Dymo tape, stated Mr Wilkinson, Branch Manager.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, can I ask what you’re doing?” he asked very politely in a pompous manner, with his hands behind his back as he rocked up and down on the balls of his feet.

Now a few other interested shoppers joined the melee, all looking at what the excitement was on a drab late Saturday afternoon. The pink-headscarf-curler lady was joined by her friend who sported the same outfit of an overcoat, slippers and those curlers poking out from under a headscarf. Also, a shop assistant, dressed in a long green smock-over-jacket, moved towards us. He stood there holding his pricing gun after expertly thrashing out labels on a tray of canned food at lightning speed, now holding the said gun as if ready to shoot us.

“Sorry, what’s the problem? My friend and I were just doing some shopping,” I replied.

Pink-scarf lady nudged her friend with her elbow and winked. “Couple of nancy boys, I reckon. Poofters like that Jeremy Thorpe bloke.” Her friend shot her hand to her mouth and giggled.

“Mr Wilkinson, he’s the odd-fellow who wanted to know if we sold meat-free sausages,” stated the assistant waving the pricing gun around.

Martin stood with his mouth open, gawping at the scene as if frozen in time by a witch’s spell. The Manager rocked up and down on his toes, arching his eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

“Look, I didn’t say anything about Candid Camera. Can we just continue our shopping please?”

“Yes you did, nancy boy. You were down there hiding behind the end of the aisle, waiting for someone to walk past those tins,” said Pink-scarf-lady, as she turned and pointed to the front of the shop. The pricing-gun-slinger raised his head to follow where she was pointing. Mr Wilkinson didn’t move but continued to rock up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Shall I get them to turn out their pockets, Mr Wilkinson? They're probably stealing.”

“Yeah, I think I saw that one stick a packet of Spangles in his pocket,” announced the Pink-scarf lady pointing at Martin.

“Err … sorry, but this is ridiculous. We’ve done nothing of the sort! We were just shopping,” I threw back. Martin was still catching flies.

“Two grown men shopping … nancy boys … mark my words, that’s what they are.”

“No, Mr Bennett. There won't be any need for that. Gentlemen, I suggest you leave the store, please,” stated Mr Wilkinson, as he raised his head and pursed his lips, still rocking on the balls of his feet.

This was out of control and, although the accusations were outrageous, I knew it was time to go. Martin-the-hand-grenade had pulled the pin and caused mayhem. I grabbed Martin’s jacket sleeve, dragged the fly-catcher out of the shop, and marched him towards his car.

“Martin, I can’t believe the chaos you’re causing! What’s the matter with you? I said on Thursday, you’re going to have to get your head around this era. Why on earth were you asking for meat-free sausages?”

“I’m a vegetarian. I like meat-free sausages.”

“Well, they didn’t exist in this era! For fuck sake, I thought you had some intelligence. You’re like a loose cannon … you're worrying me.”

Martin stood with his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. Although he was thirty-one, he seemed to have stolen Kevin’s brain and attitude from the Harry Enfield shows.

“Those women, did you hear what they said? They called us poofters! You can’t say that … I mean, there’re laws against it!”

“Not in this era, mate. I know the words they used are offensive, but that’s what people said in these times.”

The two headscarf ladies exited the shop as the manager held the door open for them, then he slid the closed sign across the door, whilst he kept a watchful eye on us. The ladies nudged each other as they walked past, nodding in our direction. We both watched them walk on as they turned and sniggered again. I was used to this era’s language, but it still shocked me when I heard offensive racial or sexual comments.

“Did you go clothes shopping as I asked? That t-shirt looks new, although you’re still attached to my old denim jacket, I see.”

“Yep, all done. Went up town yesterday and spend most of the day there. Gotta say the town is pretty crap without the new Mall Shopping Centre. Did you know there’s a Wimpy on Elm Hill?”

“Did you behave yourself? No cock-ups, I hope?” After the last half hour’s events, I genuinely regretted letting him loose on Fairfield town centre.

“I’m not a total dick you know!”

I shook my head. “Hmmm. Well mate, you're doing a good impression of one at the moment.”

“Thanks!”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Most of the town was closed off. You couldn’t get up St. Stephens Street at all. Anyway, I suppose you want the change from the two-hundred you gave me?”

“No, you keep it. You’ll have a couple of weeks before you’ll get paid. Let me know if you need any more before then. Sorry, but I’m going to have to get going. I suggest you nip in the chip shop and get yourself some fish and chips. I’d bring you