The Panther of News went on the prowl to the supermarket with the Panther Cub, (AKA Boy Three) in tow. All did not go according to plan, here’s the Panther’s own story:
Five minutes later and we are whizzing around Asda in a sugar-crazed frenzy, eyes wide and teeth quivering.
We passed the earth mother at a thousand miles an hour in our pre-diabetic coma trolley dash. “Who’s that?” says the little fella. “That’s Tarquin, he needs to wipe his arse before going on his killing spree,” I explain.
And we arrive at the checkout with an assortment of shopping that I didn’t want. The Cub is sitting astride some thawing chicken nuggets as I finally accept the invitaion to have someone else pack the bags. The cashier has seen the Cub’s eyes and my drool and wants rid of us sharpish. A quick £2 on some motorised toy and there, shopping done, no problem.