I pottered gently along Upper St and ended up in the Tesco just around the corner from the festering pit of slime where minusbat and steer live, in a happy little duo just like Noddy and Big Ears only not so well-dressed. And who should I see lurking with intent near the Krispy Kreme donuts but sickboy and alleged dieter steer himself.
It should be noted that one of the things I always love to do to steer was make him jump, because he jumps in a more gangling, comical and shrieky way than almost anyone I know. So I crept up behind him, sneaked my arms around him, grabbed and jiggled his belly fat and cackled 'Hey you fat puppy! I thought you were ill!'
You will have guessed by now. IT WASN'T STEER. I screamed as I realised this, making all the Islington bystanders think the poor man had done something to me and my poor victim fled from the shop, without any donuts, looking really bloody traumatised.
So if there is a headline tomorrow that says 'Tubby old Islington Goth kills self after Fattist attack in supermarket' I will have blood on my hands.