8am

"What appears to be the matter?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Did you or did you not place this... ‘object’... upon our shelves?" He was pointing with a dismissive finger towards my book.

"Yes" I said. "I noticed you'd sold out and I thought that it was better to make a personal sacrifice than let the readers go without."

"We have not sold out" he said huffily as though insulting his stock control system was the worst thing one could do.

"Splendid" I replied. "Obviously your replenishment system went awry overnight. It is understandable. You may keep my donated copy and might wish to ask me to autograph it so you can affix a commemorative sticker and a higher price ticket."

"We have no sold out, sir, because we never stocked it in the first place."

"Suppliers let you down?"

"No."

"A piece of missing correspondence causing delays in fulfilment?"

"No."

"A strike at the distribution company?"

"No."

"The threat of a boycott by one of the crank pressure groups that has taken a dislike to someone and sometimes confuses that person and myself, leading to protests, riots and, occasionally, burning martyrs?"

"No."

"Then I am at a loss - what other reason could there be?"

"Your books were considered offensive" he told me with a straight face.

"Offensive?" I yelped. A couple of ladies in the next isle asked me to keep the noise down.

"Offensive."

"To whom?" I demanded.

"I don't have the full list on me but I believe it included (a) people who can read, (b) our book sales department, (c) people who have an allergic intolerance to boredom, (d) people who are women, (e) people who like to read, (f) people who are not immortal and who therefore value every moment of their lives, (g) people who are deemed to be normal and (h) everyone else."

"Well, there will always be a small minority of troublemakers" I mumbled.

"Now, I would like to know what you intend to do about this matter" continued the employee. "Technically, you have committed a crime close to but not exactly like shoplifting."

I was at a loss for words and found myself scrabbling around for something to say. Only by keeping the conversation one sided could I hope to avoid him asking me a direct question.

"Don't be pathetically stupid" I said, eager to keep relations on a jovial level. "I donated it as one would donate something to charity were one so absurdly liberal as to believe that charitable organisations don't simply embezzle all funds because those claiming to be in need are actually charlatans."

"We not only have to pay good money to heat and light that alleged book but when the time comes to send it back to the publishers for a refund we won't be able to find it on our computer. It will say the book doesn't exist and some of our junior staff will have spasms. The conflicting evidence of their eyes and The System will send them crazy. You don't want to see a crazy person in an environment such as this. Believe me - I've been there and I still carry the scars."

There was only one thing to do - I took the book off the shelf and put it back in my satchel.

"What are you doing?" asked the employee.

"Taking the book" I told him.

"That's theft - we always prosecute thieves."

"But you didn't want the book."

"I don't want sanitary towels either but that doesn't mean you can put them in your bag and not pay for them."

"This is completely different - I put that book on the shelf."

"Barry put the sanitary towels on the shelf but that doesn't give him the right to take them off again and not pay for them."

"I wrote this book" I said firmly.

"If Jeffrey Archer came in here and stole a book that he'd written I would be firm with him too."

"At least you didn't mention sanitary towels this time."

"So you have two choices - either return that book to the shelf and pay the penalty for what is effectively somewhere between shop lifting and fly tipping - we’ll work out the details in the back office - or you keep the book in your bag and we arrest you for stealing. Which is it to be?"

I didn't really know what to say. It was only when I saw the friendly face of Sarah Mutton coming over that I felt salvation might be at hand.

"Dennis Brent?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Clarence Dennis Brent?"

"Yes."

"Clarence Dennis Brent of Brent Towers, Bendaton, Firkinside?"

"Yes."

"Clarence Dennis Brent of Brent Towers, Bendaton, Firkinside - owner of no fewer than twelve Club Cards?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that Club Card fraud is an extremely serious matter and that those obtaining multiple cards by deception are liable to serious reprisals?"

"Yes" I lied. I hadn't read the small print even though I usually do scan all papers for words like "reprisals" ever since I overlooked the word in a birthday card and my conservatory was annihilated by fireworks.

"Would you come with me." Sarah Mutton, who obviously outranked the man charged with looking after the book department, lead me towards a secret room somewhere within the supermarket. We were passing the tills when I saw Ian Devine's special trolley piled high with the very best almost-out-of-date bargain pies Tesco had to offer. We nodded to each other as gentlemen do and I thought no more of it until I heard a wail coming from his checkout.

"Dennis Brent" he cried. "Oh! Dennis Brent. I have left my wallet at home. Would you be kind enough to pay for my pies?"

I looked back in disgust at the man who had broken the last taboo of our friendship.

"Yes" I said and I took out my purse.