We were walking down Commercial Street in the February sunlight. I looked at my wife. I said, “Next time I say let’s go shopping, punch me in the mouth, okay?”

I’m not knocking Newport or shopping, God help me, its people that irritate me. There were hordes of them everywhere you looked. I think I could handle shopping if no one else was there, no queuing, no stepping around people who suddenly stop to dither in front of you. If you could snap your fingers and be there, then snap them again and find yourself home, I wouldn’t mind. But after ten minutes I’d had a guts full. I’m just not cut out for it.

There was nothing we really wanted. Don’t laugh, but we thought we’d go for something to do. I would have started sulking but as it was my own stupid idea to go I had to put a brave face on it. We talked about inconsequential things and pretended we were enjoying ourselves but our smiles and good humoured banter were forced. Our gritted teeth hid our bitter disenchantment as we wandered aimlessly from shop to shop to shop to shop to shop to shop to shop to shop to shop.

I think there were more of those irritating people with clipboards trying to stop you and ask questions than there were shoppers. You’d think they were lepers the pains people take to avoid them. They’d dive into any old shop to get away from them, it didn’t matter which one. Even the derelict shops were full. Great gaps appeared in the crowd wherever they stood. It was like one of those nature films that show a shark attacking a shoal of fish. You’d see ten people trying to look inconspicuous hiding behind a wheely bin, all waiting for their chance to cross the street unnoticed. Next time I’m going to take my own clipboard. I want that kind of power.

There were people everywhere, smiling, walking, talking, texting, shopping, selling, buying, stopping, turning, smoking, looking, parking, standing, sitting, riding, glaring, scowling, chewing, eating, breathing, reading, scratching, stretching, queuing, skipping, tripping, traipsing, wandering, marching, striding, begging, borrowing… I don’t know how many. More than ten. Too many to count. And they all got in my way at least twice.

And do you know what we carried home after all that fun? Twelve pairs of socks, and they’re not even for us.