Why waste our time delving into rumours known to be untrue?

AT the weekend, I discovered two rumours about me have been circulating, one as far afield as Auckland.

So far, the police have not had to issue statements saying on this occasion they can say I am not and have not been the subject of any police inquiry, nor have I been charged in relation to any matter.

Questions could have been asked about my behaviour in shops, particularly if accompanied. Not, I hasten to add, that I am part of a shoplifting gang. Please do not start that rumour.

Anyone who knows me would be aware I am too much of a gumby to carry that off, and even if I could, thanks to my Catholic upbringing, the guilt would be overwhelming. I’d be down at the police station confessing before the shopkeeper could shout ‘‘Stop thief!’’

Despite that, I have been known to behave badly in shops, probably because I am not particularly fond of shopping.

Shopping with other people is almost enough to make me fantasise about having teeth extracted without an anaesthetic.

I cannot bear their dithering over their purchases, trying to decide if this thingummy is better than that thingummy which might be 50c more. I simply don’t care.

If you are unlucky enough to be with me in the supermarket, do not make the mistake of blowing hot and cold over whether to buy items in the chilled or frozen food chests. I might be tempted to upend you into one.

Decisiveness is what’s required. Then, it takes as little time as possible.

There have been shopping occasions when the police could have been called, such as the time in an Oamaru bookstore when I told the longsuffering man behind the counter that a murder was about to be committed.

I cannot remember what prompted such an outburst – possibly my companion was questioning my desire to add to my collection of knitting magazines, the contents of which never translate into a finished project. Instead, he may have been hassling me to buy a motorbike magazine or some ghastly book for whatever foible of mine he thought needed selfhelp. (Has anyone other than the publisher ever been helped by a selfhelp book? I can never get past any page where I am required to write a list. Possibly, it reminds me of shopping. Deep, deep, deep. That’s me.)

Whatever the buildup, the fastthinking man, keen to protect the shop carpet and stock from ugly blood stains and splatters, said, ‘‘Not in here there won’t be. You need to go out to the pavement.’’

Last week in a hardware store, sensing my companion was about to issue two women assembling a shelf with unwanted and unnecessary advice, I advised one to hit him with the mallet she was using. She didn’t, but it had the desired restraining effect on him.

Should I be required to provide the authorities with some mitigating circumstances for such threatening behaviour, I will blame my genes.

I will tell them of two of my father’s sisters. In their later years they lived near each other and often went shopping together.

Pat was forthright and decisive. Olive was gentle and sometimes a little forgetful.

On one shopping outing, they visited several stores. At each one, Aunty Pat reckoned, Aunty Olive left behind whatever she had bought at the previous shop.

After an afternoon of one shop forward, two shops back, by the time they arrived at the butcher’s, Aunty Pat was a little frazzled.

‘‘Do you have a sharp knife?’’ she asked.

Naturally, the butcher’s response was affirmative. Popes and Catholicism may have been mentioned. Then, he made the mistake of asking what it was required for.

‘‘So I can kill my sister.’’ I imagine the butcher had a hearty chuckle as he wrapped up her mince and sausages and tied the parcel with string, all the while keeping a weather eye on the whereabouts of his knives.

If a gossipy witness, convinced Aunty Pat was a wannabe crazed knifewielding granny, had reported the incident to the local newspaper, it might have checked it out. I doubt anything would have been reported.

Journalists often investigate rumours. When they turn out to be baseless, they remain unreported. The understanding many people are spreading the rumour shouldn’t change that. What is the point of saying a rumour we can’t tell you about has no basis?

However, I can disclose the rumours about me.

Apparently, I have ebiked to Warrington and back in a day.

I am also fondly remembered for delivering a jar of my homepreserved lemons to an Auckland friend.

Neither of these things happened, but don’t believe that just because you read it here.