The BB and I are escaping the Soviet States of Surrey at last

‘You’re only allowed one roll of packing tape per customer,’ said the lady in the local hardware store.

The builder boyfriend was holding five rolls, at £2 each, thinking it was reasonable to buy a tenner’s worth, or even that she might be pleased, in line with the normal rules of commerce.

But this lady and her husband are notorious for not allowing you to buy the precious things of their shop. I had to beg them to sell me six laundry bags a few weeks ago.

Now we had gone through all the tape we had bought from the self-storage firm where we got our packing boxes and we had to do a run to this local store for local people, in a small parade of shops in a chocolate-boxy Surrey Hills village.

After somehow managing to buy five rolls, the builder b made the mistake of informing the lady he might be back for more, whereupon she pulled her cardigan tightly around her and, as her husband looked up aghast from where he was stacking the already full to bursting shelves, she informed the BB: ‘You won’t be allowed back to buy more. You’ve already got too much. It’s one roll per customer.’

I managed to buy one plastic container for my desk contents, by convincing the man I didn’t want the largest box. ‘Those are the best ones,’ he said, doubtfully, when I pointed to the stack. ‘That’s fine, I’ll take one of the smaller ones.’