There was a very touching little cameo moment in our local Asda this morning.
I was pushing Jamie around in his pram, basket balanced on its hood, as I gathered up a few bits for tonight's tea.
He was having a whale of a time, smiling at all and sundry and offering high fives to anyone who appeared remotely interested in him.
We got as far as the vegetable aisle and I parked him up to go in search of one of those "medleys" that save you so much trouble when you can't be arsed. When I came back, a 60-plus-year-old grey-haired shelf-stacker was standing over him with Jamie grinning back manically.
"Do you want to swap places with me?" asked Asda man in a nicely spoken Southern Irish accent. Jamie continued to grin.
"Do you want to swap places with me?" enquired Asda man again. Jamie kept grinning.
"Do you want to swap places with me?" came the question for a third and final time.
Jamie, looking him right in the eye, smiled once again before letting out a ear-splitting yelp and sticking both arms in the air.
"No, son," replied the man with a tinge of sadness in his voice. "I wouldn't if I was you." And then he wandered off, pushing a huge stack of crates crammed with vegetables.
Given the chance, I'll bet he could tell a story or two.
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