EVEN MORE TROUBLE IN STORE

By the time I arrived at the Security Office, Wilson was in tears, sobbing, 'Don't send me to Jail! I don't want to be a Jailhouse Bitch, whatever that is – it sounds horrible!'

Surprisingly, though, the Security Manager was also in tears – Wilson had explained how his world had been turned upside-down by the news he'd received from his sister/mother Andrea, and she was more than sympathetic to his plight.

I asked what this 'more expensive – and serious – item' was, and the security lady showed me a photograph of Wilson necking gin from a bottle of Gordons he'd removed from a display by the checkouts.

'It was all the more grave,' she explained between sniffs, 'because we're pretty sure your son is under age, so we're obliged to report it to the Police.'

Wilson's sobbing grew more intense, but she continued:

'But in the circumstances, if you're willing to pay for the damage, I think we might just put it down to experience.'

Wilson whimpered, 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll never do anything like this again!' while I handed over a £20 and a £10.

After we'd all shaken hands/paws I took Wilson out into the car park and we drove home. In silence, but for W begging me not to tell the others what he'd done. Especially Antony.

I shall have to think of something to stop W's constant brooding – something to distract him and restore his feelings of self-worth. 

Something to help him out of this pit of despair...