Friday, 30 March 2012


I was in a shop changing room the other day, and was already feeling vulnerable. 

I freely admit to being the kind of person who peers up at the ceiling tiles suspiciously;  convinced that beings lurk behind them, snooping down at me in my semi-clad state. 
I don't tend to linger in these places.  Indeed I try to be as quick as possible, not least because the less time spent in front of a mirror in my undies the better. 

But apparently, I was not quite quick enough.  As I teetered around on one leg trying on a (rather fetching) grey dress, I was struck by the business end of a Henry Hoover.
And I do mean struck.  Physically. 

I hopped out of the way, as best I could in the confined space of the cubicle.  Perhaps the cleaner thinks this cubicle is empty, I mused, so - being English -  I gave out a dainty, ‘Ooop!’ by way of a signal. 
However, this served only to fire Henry’s ardour  -  and he thrust further in.
Splammed up against the far wall (for fear of another nasty nip to the ankles)  I changed as rapidly as I could back into my own clothes.  I gathered my belongings and wrenched open the cubicle door -  fully expecting to see an embarrassed looking cleaning operative.

But there was none. 
Just Henry Hoover. 

Red-faced, admittedly  -  but with a rather saucy glint in his eye....



  1. Oh lordy, my stomach hurts from laughing so much. 'Ooop'. So very British. Miss you chick. Naughty Henry! Or did the Operator just drop Henry and dash off, all red faced .... hmmm. Awesome post, thanks for sharing xx

  2. This is so funny, made my cheeks hurt. I'm going to comment again as my first one disappeared (the Blogger version of a lost sock). I think the cleaner legged it. Henry does look very cheeky though ...

  3. He's a baaaaad boy. You have been warned :) xxx