Pottering about this morning while the decorators were setting up in the sitting room. One of their mobiles goes off.
That's FANTASTIC! Oh brilliant, brilliant. That's made my day. Fantastic. Speak to you later.
What's that? the other one asks.
CHELSEA TICKETS! My Chelsea tickets are sorted, she cries.
Yes, she. This is Stoke Newington after all, the decorators are ladies, and the tickets? They're for the Chelsea Flower Show, not the Bridge.
What would my dear old Dad have said. (Actually I think he would've been impressed by their workpersonship.)