Yesterday lunchtime I was in Boots with my flatmate, Vix, buying grooming products. I went up to the counter to pay for my goodies while Vix went outside to call her boyfriend.

While I was at the counter I decided to ask the assistant if she could recommend a product that would minimise and dull any T-zone shine. She told me that she did sell something like that, but that it was in the stock room. While she was more than happy to go and grab some, I told her not to worry as I couldn't really wait.

"Why? Do you have a train to catch?"

"No, I just have a meeting to attend," I explained.

"Oh, that's ok. Because you know there have been some more bombs on the tube. They've closed down a load of the stations again."

I looked at her, aghast. "No! Seriously? That's awful! Has anyone been hurt?"

"I'm not sure. I guess so," and we both shook our heads, mournfully.

After a respectful pause the shop assistant said, "You know I can give you some samples of the product I was telling you about?"

"Great!" I replied.

I left the shop and gleefully showed my twelve, free, mini-sachets of Clinique Oil Control Hydrator to Vix.

Later on I was forced to consider that I am either shallow beyond belief, or that the terrorists have completely and utterly failed to inspire any real feelings of terror within me.