“MY SHOPPING BASKET on wheels has been towed away!” exclaimed Paddington hotly.
He gazed at the spot where he had left it before going into the cut-price grocers in the Portobello Market. In all the years he had lived in London such a thing had never happened to him before and he could hardly believe his eyes. But if he thought staring at the empty space was going to make it reappear he was doomed to disappointment.
“It’s coming to something if a young bear gent can’t leave ’is shopping basket unattended for five minutes while ’e’s going about ’is business,” said one of the stallholders, who normally supplied Paddington with vegetables when he was out shopping for the Brown family. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”
“There’s no give and take any more,” agreed a man at the next stall. “It’s all take and no give. They’ll be towing us away next, you mark my words.”
“You should have left a note on it saying ‘Back in five minutes’,” said a third one.
“Fat lot of good that would have done,” said another. “They don’t give you five seconds these days, let alone five minutes.”
Paddington was a popular figure in the market and by now a small crowd of sympathisers had begun to gather. Although he was known to drive a hard bargain, he was much respected by the traders. Receiving his custom was regarded by many as being something of an honour: on a par with having a sign saying they were by appointment to a member of the Royal Family.
“The foreman of the truck said it was in the way of his vehicle,” said a lady who had witnessed the event. “They were trying to get behind a car they wanted to tow away.”
“But my buns were in it,” said Paddington.
“Were, is probably the right word,” replied the lady. “I dare say even now they’re parked in some side street or other wolfing them down. Driving those great big tow-away trucks of theirs must give them an appetite.”
“I don’t know what Mr Gruber is going to say when he hears,” said Paddington. “They were meant for our elevenses.”
“Look on the bright side,” said another lady. “At least you’ve still got your suitcase with you. The basket could have been clamped. That would have cost you £80 to get it undone.”
“And you would have to hang about half the day before they got around to doing it,” agreed another.
Paddington’s face grew longer and longer as he listened to all the words of wisdom. “Eighty pounds!” he exclaimed. “But I only went in for Mrs Bird’s bottled water!”
“You can buy a new basket on wheels in the market for £10,” chimed in another stallholder.
“I dare say if you haggle a bit you could get one for a lot less,” said another.
“But I’ve only got ten pence,” said Paddington sadly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want a new one. Mr Brown gave mine to me soon after I arrived. I’ve had it ever since.”
“Quite right!” agreed an onlooker. “You stick to your guns. They don’t come like that these days. Them new ones is all plastic. Don’t last five minutes.”
“If you ask me,” said a lady who ran a knickknacks stall, “it’s a pity it didn’t get clamped. My Sid would have lent you his hacksaw like a shot. He doesn’t hold with that kind of thing.”
“Pity you weren’t here in person when they did it,” said another stallholder. “You would have been able to lie down in the road in front of their truck as a protest. Then we could have phoned the local press to send over one of their photographers and it would have been in all the papers.”