When no means NO.

Why is it that when you're on your lunch break, running to get a sandwich and maybe have a quick peak in Topshop, there is always, always a sales girl/credit card pusher/random weirdo who pops up and makes your already painfully fast dash just that little bit more painful. Today, trawling round ye local shopping centre, it was like there was a giant sign around my neck that said please, kick me when i'm down. I was already dashing in order to get everything off my list, grab some lunch and dash to see if a bag I wanted had come in.

In Boots, as I determinedly strode towards a counter, I was stopped by the Benefits girl, who tried desperately to lure me into a makeover. Clearly the purposeful stride looked more like a ramble and the startled, slightly frazzled look to me suggested that I was in need of being sold some blusher and eyeliner. However, I was not in need of these, merely a till and an exit, in order to continue my quest.

Back out in the shopping centre, the same keen representative who tries to thrust a Barclaycard on me every week once again zoned in on me. Let me quickly add, I once had a Barclaycard. Well, had is dubious. I never actually took possession of the card but still managed to rack up £40 in some kind of insurance because I'd ticked the wrong box. Let's just say, no more Barclay Cards, as I explained to the man. Note to Barclay Card Man: When I say no, I mean NO. Not yes. Not maybe. NO. NO. NO. NO.

Later, the woman at the Post Office became quite insistent that I should have a Post Office credit card. Really insistent. She wouldn't let me leave until I had promised to take the leaflets for it, as well as a savings account. On further reflection, the savings account looks quite good. Hmm.

Anyway, another early start tomorrow, so enough about those poor shmucks who have to flog the things, that's punishment enough for taking up my precious lunch hour.