Last night, searching for sewing needles on a stand in EuroSpar, I managed to knock a shelf of tights all over myself. I say shelf, because the tights were not stored according to logical retail practices on hooks and according to size and shade, but instead merely jumbled carelessly on top of each other on a shelf. As the packs containing sherry, nude, calypso, natural, tropical and mediterranian tan rained down on to my unsuspecting head, I let out a peal of madwoman's laughter. Seriously, fellow Spar patrons looked nervously for the nearest exit. This, I thought, is the funniest thing to happen to me all week. And that's a pretty sad way to be.