We’re off to the Eighteenth Century Street fair. Set in the heart of Dorset, in a village boasting a desirable private educational stronghold that looks like a castle – Milton Abbey School – and thirty six identical thatched cottages, there will be plants and craft stalls and Morris Dancing and all sorts of rural activities and entertainments. Except that it’s July and it’s monsoon season.

Shall we, shan’t we, will you join the dance? Well, in a word, no. It might brighten up? You know it won’t but I’ll go if you want to. Now comes that other polite familial dance. Who really wants to go? I make a move – I’m not that keen on getting wet but mum will be disappointed. Dad joins in, even though he’s not going: ‘your mum doesn’t really want to go’.

Plan B.

Me: let’s go to all the shops that dad won’t take you to.

Mum: done.

First stop is B & M Bargains. It’s a risk because they don’t normally allow entry to folk devoid of tattoos but their fat balls are super cheap as is their weed-killer. And it turns out that the price of Vanish falls far below that of comparable establishments. Well, it would if there was anything comparable. Frankly, I don’t know how people exist without Vanish. Hanging my washing on someone else’s line once, the man of the house asked his wife why my clothes were whiter than hers. If you knew the man in question, you’d be surprised that he’d even noticed. Especially as he was French. Well, like other sad Brits who take their tea-bags abroad, I’m seldom seen in foreign parts without a handy slab of Vanish soap.

With a basket of goodies, I lose mother in B&M Bargains but find her again clutching a large bottle of Lenor – mango scented – and head for the checkout where we receive excellent service due to our ability to say please and thank-you.

After this, we head off for the new tip shop – Renaissance. Not that long ago, there was a shed at the local tip in which Linda sold discarded goods for pennies. She did so well that they gave her an old garage on the business estate for a couple of years with even more unwanted things. Here’s the rub: Linda is an undiscovered interior decorator. She dressed that garage as though it was a professional emporium for the shabby chic seekers and she sold things for next to nothing. All those upscaling, eBay selling craft types swarmed the place and in not being greedy and selling goods for a few pounds she made the council a small and unexpected fortune. Now, they’ve given her a proper shop which is huge: materials, ornaments, furniture – you name it …

I say to Linda, do you remember when you were in a shed down the tip? Now look – you have your own department store. Linda replies sadly, yes, life was so undemanding in that shed. I made too much money for them.

Boot full, we’re off to Home Sense which is a sort of satellite of TK Max. I lose mother but end up with a collection of goodies. But mum, when I locate her, is hungry, and so am I. Earlier, we might have envisaged ourselves eating tasty local produce in the rain drenched Dorset interior. Now, we head off to Sainsburys for cottage pie and egg and chips. The rain is pouring down and we congratulate ourselves on not having ventured further afield. We have a look at the sale and mum purchases a cauliflower before heading back for a cup of tea. Sorry Milton Abbas but we had a lovely time.