When the health crisis started, the National Health Service set up a volunteer responder scheme, so people could help those in need — mostly with things like grocery shopping and picking up prescriptions for those asked by their doctors to shelter and those isolating or in quarantine. The prescriptions are often free; for everything else, we arrange payment.

I call a man and see if there is anything he needs. The only thing he is short of is tea (dish) towels. It’s an unusual request, but I can do it when I am shopping anyway, so I say yes. Knowing that these people are usually on a fixed income, I say that if I can get a packet of three for £5 or better, I will buy them, and he agrees.

I manage to do better; I find a pack of four beautiful tea towels for £5. Bargain! I buy them and give him a call to let him know I am on my way. I confirm he has £5 to pay me. There is no misunderstanding.

I arrive, and he comes outside to greet me.

Me: “Here are the tea towels. Are they okay?”

Man: “That’s great, thank you! Do you like tea?”

Me: *Taken aback* “Yes, I guess.”

He handed me a packet of teabags. They were cheap ones, and the packet was opened but had been resealed by the white paper sticker. The packet had a greasy feel like it had been near a cooktop for months. It had the price printed on the packet: £1.59. I did not want this, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I took it. I assumed it was a gift to thank me for my effort.

I awaited being paid the amount we’d agreed on. There was a long, awkward pause as I stared at him, eyes widening as he made no move to pay me. Finally, he realised that I was not bartering £5 worth of tea towels for rubbish, and he pulled the £5 out of his pocket. The tea bags went in the first litter bin I passed.

My mum used to house sit for our neighbour when she was sent on one of many random training courses. This neighbour has an elderly cat that is mostly independent, but obviously still requires his food and water topping up. Our neighbour had also has a cat door fitted with a magnetic trigger attached to the cat’s collar. When the neighbour is on her trips my mum goes over once a day and checks on things.

One year, our neighbour decides to also get a kitten, which, after a suitable period of training and whatnot, is also given a magnetic collar. The next day, our neighbour was sent on another training course and she asks my mum to check twice a day, just for the kitten’s sake.

Monday morning’s check, everything is fine.

Monday afternoon’s check, mum hears a pathetic mewling sound coming from the kitchen. The elder cat is sitting washing his paws on the garden wall, so it must be the kitten. Mum goes to investigate.

The magnetic collar is clearly stronger than the kitten, who has found itself stuck sideways to the fridge door!

Mum ended up creating a kitten-proof barrier in front of the fridge for the rest of the week. Our neighbour looked into a chip-based collar instead!

\My mum is visiting, a very rare occurrence as we live so far away, so we’ve gone out for a special afternoon tea. The place is busy with almost every table full when two women and an approximately three- or four-year-old boy come in. They’re sat down, and a waitress takes their order and brings their drinks. It isn’t long before the little boy starts grumbling.

Boy: “Mum, toilet!”

Mum: “Mmm, in a minute.”

Boy: “Nowwwwwwww!”

Mum: “Wait.”

Boy: “No, nowwwwwwww!”

This back and forth continues as the boy gets louder and louder while both women are staring at their phones. Eventually, an angelic waitress appears.

Waitress: “Hi, guys, shall I take him downstairs to the toilet? Or I can show you where it is?”

Mum: “Yeah, great. [Boy], go with the lady.”

They’re gone for a bit and the boy is then brought back up, holding the waitress’s hand. All is calm for about five minutes before he suddenly starts screaming in a high-pitched whine. The sudden noise makes all of the tables stop their conversations and stare at the boy.

We all wait for the two adults to do something, but both are still staring at their phones. The mum is taking photos of her pretty frappe and doesn’t seem to notice. After a few minutes of intermittent screaming, the waitress reappears.

Waitress: “Hey, buddy, how’s your drink?”

The boy suddenly stops screaming but carries on, sobbing and hiccupping.

Boy: “I-I-it’s okay.”

Waitress: “Can I get you anything else? Is it okay if I get him a cupcake or something?”

Mum: “Mmm, yeah, he can have whatever.”

The waitress gives him a cupcake, and he slowly starts eating it so there’s a few minutes of silence before the screaming starts up again. Another table of guests gets up, looking irritated, and leaves. Once again, the waitress seems to be hoping for the adults with the boy to intervene before she steps forward again. This time, she doesn’t even speak to the Mum.

Waitress: “Hey, buddy, do you want to see something cool?”

He nods silently.

Waitress: “Okay, come see. We’re about to ice a cake!”

She takes his hand and leads him behind the counter. The adults are seemingly taking selfies and photos of their cakes because they don’t acknowledge he’s left. They’re gone a little while. When they come back out, the waitress has given him a cloth and he’s helping her clean empty tables while she sprays them with cleaner. She’s doing a great job of keeping him distracted, but eventually, she gets called away, so she takes him back to his table where he promptly begins screaming again.

This time, a manager approaches.

Manager: “Hey, how is everything?”

Other Woman: “Yeah, good.”

Manager: “Great, I’m glad to hear it. Could I please ask that while you’re enjoying your food, though, your son just keeps his voice down? It’s a small space and the noise carries.”

Mum: “Yeah, yeah…”

Predictably, this does not work, and he’s soon screaming again.

Manager: “Hey, fella, I hope you’re not feeling too sad. We don’t like tears in here!”

The boy smiles and wipes his eyes a bit.

Manager: “Okay, remember to use your inside voice.” *Whispers* “Like thissss.”

It lasts a couple of minutes before the screaming starts again. The manager wearily approaches, and the mum stands up suddenly, snapping her fingers.

Mum: “Fine, fine. Give us a to-go box; we’re leaving.”

They left quickly with no thank-you to the waitress who had babysat her son for most of the meal. We asked later, and the manager had apparently added an extra service charge onto what they did pay.

I hear some noise outside of my house, which I attribute to road works. It stops, and then I get a knock at the door.

Man: “Hi. We’re power washing houses today. Just did your neighbours’. Your render could do with a going-over.”

That’s a little blunt, but he is right. I’ve been meaning to get someone to do it. But from what I’ve read, this render shouldn’t just be blasted clean; it needs low pressure and cleaning chemicals. I don’t trust some random guy to not damage it.

Me: “No, thanks.”

Man: “Okay, okay. How about your path, then? It’s pretty slippery. You wouldn’t want anyone slipping over.”

Again, yes, it could do with a clean. But I really don’t like how this guy is coming across. It just feels rude now.

Me: “Again, thank you, but no.”

Man: “Oh, but look at how clean we can get it.”

He stands aside and reveals a small, clean square right in the middle of the path. It stands out like a sore thumb!

Me: “What gives you the right to do that to my path?”

Man: “What? Oh, it’s just to show you how dirty your paths are. Look how clean we can get it. It’s not even the same colour!”

Me: “I don’t care. You’ve come on to my property, uninvited, made a big mark in the path, and now you’re trying to guilt me into paying you?”

Man: “Oh, don’t be like that. I’ll even knock some money off for you.”

Me: “Get the h*** off my property.”

Man: “Wait, come on. I’ve already got the gear set up. It will only—”

I slammed the door on him, and I reported him for his pushy tactics. His company told me that they would follow this up.

I read later that others had also complained, and a man matching his description was taken to court for trading without insurance or licencing.

When I was a child we had a ginger cat named Felix. Now, Felix was fast. Really fast. You know when cats get the zoomies? Well, that was basically his minimum speed whenever he went anywhere.

Felix had also learned that humans who make rustling sounds while sitting on the sofa, then put things to their mouths, are often eating snacks. Snacks that Felix very much wanted. He particularly liked trying to steal crisps or ice cream.

One evening, my Mum was sat in her favourite spot, and Felix was nowhere to be seen. However, wherever he was, he heard rustling, and his ears pricked up. Cue:

1) A very brief ginger blur flashing along the sofa in front of Mum’s face.
2) A rather shocked gasp from Mum.
3) A very disgruntled Felix sitting in the corner spitting out the cigarette he had just snatched in mid-leap!

The rustling had been taking the film off the new pack!