“That’ll be £6.99”, she said, flatly.

“That’s expensive,” he replied, taken aback, “I’m only sending it down the road!”

“Then take it there yourself?”

She was not interested in his protests. He’d been in the queue for six minutes and considered whether the trouble was worth any more of his time. Mrs Fazackerly behind him pretended to be very interested in the display of twines of various strengths and lengths at the end of the shelves. He’d queued here many times. It went: colourful confectionery, serious confectionery, writing paper, pens and pencils, sticky tape, very sticky tape, and twines of various strengths and lengths. He had often wondered what all the different strengths and lengths could be used for. And then he usually remembered that the world had changed without him noticing, and surely there were all kinds of uses for these things that he’d never be able to dream of.

Behind Mrs Fazackerly, a young woman dressed in neon popped her bubblegum, and waggled her leg impatiently. Behind her, a young boy seemingly dead to the world stood staring at the screen of some thick grey electronic device.

“Very well,” he replied, feeling hurried, and handing over, exactly and in coins, the £6.99.