Anne

'Do you know anything about hoovers?' I ask the woman with braided hair.  Her earrings are long silver hoops that each clasp a different-coloured sphere. She is wheeling a trolley.  'No', she says.  'Oh, okay', I say.  'Only joking', she says, 'what do you want to know?'

We discuss the advantages and disadvantages of the low-budget range.  I end by choosing the smallest and the cheapest.  'I've got an expensive one 'cos I love animals', she says.  'But if you've just got a wooden floor I'm sure that'll be fine'.  We take it to the till.

She looks at me with suspicion as I explain my resolution.  'Will you tell me yours?' I ask.  'No', she says.  I look dismayed.  'What's yours?' she asks.  I tell her.  'If I tell you my first name, you have to guess it', she says.  I agree to the terms.  Her first name is Beverly.  I guess 'Marie' and 'Joy'.  'No', she says, 'it goes'.  In desperation I try 'Knight'.  'That's my last name', she says.  It is my turn to look suspicious.

She loses patience and gives me an answer.  'It goes, see', she says, 'like Sue-Ann'.  I ask if she spells it with or without an 'e'.  'I've never found out', she says, 'but I like to put an 'e' on 'cos it's a bit more fancy'.  She suddenly becomes loquacious.  'I could give you forty-nine middle names if you wanted', she says.  She explains that there are forty-nine members of her family not including first cousins.  'My nephew's got twenty-seven names', she says.  I say that sounds like a lot.  'We're a family of Rastas', she says, 'they like their names'.  I ask if he can remember then all.  'I don't think he cares', she says.

She puts some security tape on the box and tells me not to lose my receipt.  We wish each other good afternoons.