It's my belief we're all crazy

Fiona stopped suddenly at the end of the painting and decorating aisle when she saw her subject. This was an unexpected pleasure as she had only popped in to buy a new piece of downpipe for the side of the house which had become clogged with leaves and collapsed. She was becoming accustomed to spotting her subject purely by sensing the certain way in which she moved and she had congratulated herself on the acquisition of this is new skill. She wondered whether it was because she had been studying the movement over a period of nine years or because it was so extraordinary that it could not be ignored by her, even if it was just an unconscious glimpse on the peripheral of her vision. In any case, opportunities such as this one should not be ignored because one never knew when they would present themselves again. She stretched out to touch a packet on the clearance range situated at the end of aisle display. Anyone who knew Fiona would be instantly suspicious; she was unlikely to be interested in stencilling leaves on a wall in her house but on the assumption that she was still operating unacknowledged by her subject, she considered it adequate cover for her real intentions. It was a matter of intrigue for Fiona that in all the years of furtive exploration she had yet to discover her subject’s name despite close proximity on a number of occasions. In the first instance they had sat opposite one another on a training course but the subject had fled in tears. Secondly, their children had attended the same school but in different year groups. The third time was in the clinic, a very discreet environment. It’s my belief we’re all crazy but some more so than others.