I can just imagine the 'team leader' saying "Ok guys, here we are in Waitrose. I thought we'd start off in groceries, then do a right into the cereals and pastas aisle, take a quick trip through frozen foods, past the milk and yoghurts and then introduce the children to the delights of the cheese counter. Maybe let them witness the wonders that are Camembert, Brie, Edam, Gorgonzola and Roquefort. And, if they're good, we'll stop for a picnic afterwards in the wines and spirits section" - at which a small cheer would emanate from the parents.

Don't get me wrong, I love children, but can you imagine in ten years time little Johnny is looking through the family photo album. 'What's this one mum?  Why are you standing in the entrance to a supermarket with a bunch of other mums and their babies, smiling'? "Oh, that's the day we took you on a special outing to Waitrose dear.  Oh and that next one is us on our weeks holiday to a bus shelter in Croydon and that one there is the time when, as a special treat, we went to a car boot sale in Orpington. Sadly it was raining but we let you wear a hat and look out of the car window whilst your dad took a picture".

And everywhere you look there's so much doom and gloom about isn't there? The papers are full of reports about the highest unemployment figures for ten years, 300 jobs lost at such and such car manufacturer, shares collapsing at so and so bank - and when you walk down the high street all you see is an endless array of posters in shop windows proclaiming  "70% off",  but with tiny little writing in the corner saying "up to",  or "Everything must go" or "Clearance sale" or "Please come in. We're dying on our arses here."

OK, I haven't actually seen that last one yet, but it's surely only a matter of time. Woolworths has gone, Tschibo, Whittards, The Pier, Gamleys. Do you know, there are no toy shops left in my town, not one. Actually, thinking about it, that probably explains why the baby group went to Waitrose! "Here you are junior, have an avocado to play with you little tinker, and if you're good, I'll let you have a go in the freezer compartment later".

Anyway, to cap it all, I heard yesterday that my brother in law lost his job. I mean it wasn't a great job to start with. He was only a Treatment Operator at the local sewage works. Apparently though, he wasn't working hard enough. They said he was simply going through the motions.

Talking of jobs, anyone been for an interview recently? I'd forgotten how tough some of the questions are! Stuff like 'Who in the world would you most like to meet, living or dead'? I mean, what do you say? I suppose Nelson Mandela would be a safe answer. I could have gone on about how I'd like to ask him what it was like to be deprived of his freedom for so long. Or maybe I could have kept it current and said Barack Obama - so that I could hear firsthand just how enthusiastic he is about the challenges ahead. But no. What did I say in answer to the question 'who in the world, living or dead,  would you most like to meet?

After much deliberation and huffing and puffing, I said 'Living'.

It got worse.

They asked if I was willing to travel. Now, in hindsight, I should have said 'I'm more than happy to travel if it means getting the job done'.  What Iactually came out was 'how  do you think I got here this morning?'. By then I realised I was making a bit of a balls of it, so I decided to try and inject a bit of humour. The next question was 'How do you feel you would fit into a small team'? I suppose I should have replied 'with my people skills and flexible approach I feel that I would perfectly into a team of any size', but what I actually blurted out was 'it depends how small. I mean, if they were dwarves it might be a bit awkward'. It was then, and only then, that I noticed that one of the panel was, in fact, quite small. 

'How do you handle change?' they asked, to which I replied 'I put it in a piggy bank and at the end of the year crack it open and treat myself to something nice'.

'What problems did you encounter in your last job'? they wanted to know. I had a bit of a think about that one before piping up...  'The air conditioning. Always going on the blink. One day like a greenhouse, the next like trying to work in a fridge'.

'How would your friends describe you'. 'About 5 foot 10, brown hair, a bit fat, wonky eye'. By now I could tell they were getting a bit fed up.

They reeled off a few more questions like 'What are your greatest weaknesses'. The first things that came to mind were 'red wine, porn and chocolate'.

'Can you act on your own initiative'? they asked.  'I was in the school play once but I'm no Sir Michael Caine'.

'What are your career goals'? I was quite proud of my answer to this one - '15 in 155 appearances for my local pub team'.

'What's the biggest risk you've ever taken'? 'Unprotected sex probably'. 'I meant in the workplace'. 'Yes, funnily enough it was. You know how messy Christmas parties can get sometimes!'

We then exchanged a bit of that awkward idle banter you get when you can tell that both parties know it hasn't gone well, before they told me that they would 'get back to me' and showed me the door. And a very nice door it was too!

When I got home, my wife, bless her, could see I was a bit down, so suggested we go out for a drink and something to eat and forget all about the interview. So off we popped to the local tapas bar.

Talk about from bad to worse!

We'd just ordered our drinks and a few tapas when all of a sudden her mobile phone rang. She picked it up and stared at it for a few seconds then handed it to me saying "I don't recognise the number, can you answer it for me". "Why? It's clearly not going to be for me is it?" We argued the toss for a few seconds before I said "oh give it to me", and snatched it from her.

This is how the conversation went:
"Hello"
"You f**ing c***! I ought to rip your f**ing throat out"
"Hello, who is this"?
"You know f***ing well who it is you ****"
"I think you've got the wrong number"
"Don't give me that bollocks. You go f***ing near her again and I will f***ing kill you, understand? C***!"

...and then he hung up.

By this time I was visibly shaken by the whole episode. I explained to my wife how this just a little bit stressed out man on the other end of the phone wanted to rip my throat out prior to killing me. So what did she do?  She got his number off the call log and decided to text him.

'What are you doing'? I asked. 'I'm not having anyone speak to my husband like that' she said and proceeded to type the following message "You phoned my mobile just now. My husband answered. You have the wrong number and it is you, not my husband, who is the c***"!  'You can't send that!' I said. 'He might be a policeman or a private detective, or......I don't know, a psychic or something! He could trace the number and come round and kill me!'. But it was too late. She'd already pressed send.

I then spent the next few minutes shaking like a leaf. I don't know why. He clearly didn't know who I was and by the sound of his accent he was probably from the west country or Norfolk, or possibly Jamaican Welsh.

The human mind plays funny tricks doesn't it? All I could keep thinking about was this maniac who thought I was a ladies front bottom and wanted to tear my throat out. Jesus! I only came out for a San Miguel and a tortilla espanola!

Anyway, the minutes passed like hours until finally her phone vibrated with an incoming message. At least, I consoled myself, he hadn't rung back to have another go.

I waited in fearful anticipation as my wife opened up her message folder. Oh God, what was he going to say? What if he really could trace mobile numbers back to addresses. What if he, by some million to one coincidence lived in the same townj?

A smile played across my wife's face. She then burst out laughing. Typical, kick a man when he's down why don't you.

'Go on, what did he say'?  I enquired tentatively.  'You read it', she said, passing he phone to me. My hand was by now shaking like an alcoholic's with a bad case of the DTs - and I'd barely touched my beer let alone my tapas. Please, please, don't threaten to kill me again. I quite like my throat!

I very slowly read out loud what the maniac had typed. And this, and I swear this is true, is what it said "Oh right. Sorry about. Have a good evening".

Have a good evening? Have a good evening? I'm surprised he didn't add on the end "actually your husband sounds like a nice bloke. We should go for a drink sometime. I haven't got many friends so I always have plenty of time on my hands" or maybe attach one of those winking smileys or some kisses. 'Have a good evening'!

And on that note, I hope your next interview and your next evening out is better than my last ones were. Thank you and goodnight.