Battle comes toa head

It all started with a game of golf. A bad game actually. Very bad. In truth it was probably my worst performance on a golf course in 20 years, which is not good news when you harbour secret ambitions of leaving the workforce within the next five years, turning professional and making big bucks on one of the numerous made-for-telly senior events they stage these days.

But I digress.

So there I am on Sunday, my dreams of a wealthy golfing future in tatters, and Mrs P is offering consolation.

Now, dear reader, many of you are possibly wondering what on earth I am going on about. “It’s just a game,” I hear you say.

Luckily Mrs P secured her diploma in husband psychology long ago and she knows to utter such a phrase will quite likely result in toys well and truly being thrown out of the pram along with days of painstaking dissection of every past swing and close inspection of my balls — to make sure they roll correctly. Obviously.

With that in mind, she introduces a distraction comment to take my mind of the disaster.

“How about I make you that nice sausage curry?” she purrs with genuine sympathy.

Now, this is good news.

Golf gear, and any thoughts of playing the stupid game ever again, are immediately consigned to a dark corner of the garage as I rush to get back inside to the kitchen where the delectable concoction is about to be prepared.

Naturally, I can’t divulge the exact cooking method or ingredients without having to have you bumped off for fear of the secret emerging, but let’s just say this sausage curry will knock your socks off.

The only thing is she can’t make it just like the last time my socks were thus removed because she’s got no broccoli.

It’s probably best not to try and work it out. I have no idea why broccoli — on its own something I consider completely boring and tasteless — brings this dish together in a taste sensation. But it does.

With that in mind, before you know it, I’m at the superm arket staring at a bin full of broccoli. And there’s one bit in particular that has caught my eye. Now, this is where it gets interesting. That very same bit of broccoli appears to have caught the eye of someone else too and suddenly I find myself in a bit of a stand-off. Imagine if you will, the gunfight scene in one of those good old westerns.

Two men out in the street at high noon. Just a few yards apart. Eyes narrowed as they stare each other down. Trigger fingers twitching above the six-shooter in its holster. Both just daring the other to make the first move.

Well okay, that might be a bit dramatic. But I knew the lady opposite me wanted MY big bit of broccoli. And she knew I knew. Neither of us would back down. When the dust settled there would only be one shopper left standing.

The fluorescent light from the deli behind her blinded me slightly asiheldhergaze as best I could and in that brief moment I squinted to readjust my focus, she made her move.

I was a fraction of a second behind her as she went for the biodegradable plastic bag on her side of the bin, but months of shopping duty while searching for regular employment had given me the confidence to rip the bag from its roll with dexterity and I found myself in perfect position, bag in hand, as events moved forward.

Slowly I pulled the trigger. Well, what I mean is slowly I tried to open the bag.

Any bloke who has done the shopping will know that these thin plastic bags are essentially bloke-proof. For a start, you always get the end that doesn’t open. And then when you do get the right end it goes all oyster shell on you and doesn’t want to open anyway. Luckily, I have studied this scientific phenomenon and have discovered the best solution is to put it in-between your hands and rub them together furiously. Somehow the two sheets separate and the bag opens.

And that’s what happened.

Just as my rival was reaching for the vegetable in question, the gods intervened, the sheets separated and in one lightning-fast movement, I grabbed the broccoli and slipped it into the holster, er, I mean bag.

My rival bit the dust, and made off with a rather pathetic bit of veg compared to the spoils of my victory, if I do say so myself.

Later, as I savoured the last morsel of my sausage curry, my bad golf longforgotten, I patted my belly and relived the drama.

I had stood face to face with evil in the hot glow of a fluorescent tube and triumphed.

Broccoli has never tasted so good.

● When the dust settled there would only be one shopper left standing.