In view of the government's intention to send young offenders to so-called "Boots camps," with a view to making them experience some discipline, we reveal here for the first time the unimaginable sufferings experienced by people who visit such "Boots".
* On arrival you are assailed by an almighty stench from the perfume counter as an army of 95-year old harridans, made up to look 17, try to sell you a noxious fragrance known as Veine de Pong.
* You arrive at the CD counter where two gormless-looking teenage girls are discussing last night's Eastenders. They break off long enough to inform you that they have never heard of Beethoven but that Elton John is so old that he's almost classical.
* At the dispensary itself, you are in the queue behind a toothless old fool who is apparently attempting to pay a £5.50 prescription charge entirely in 5p pieces. When he finally wanders off back to the funny farm you whisper in a hushed tone that you would like something for diarrhoea. This fascinates the motherly-looking woman on the counter and you spend an embarrassed 10 minutes while she discusses your symptoms at the top of her voice.
* On the way out you trip over a three-year old boy who is wriggling on the floor pretending to be a crocodile. His father (who is 8 foot tall) threatens to have you arrested as a child-molester.
Clearly these conditions are too inhuman even for hardened criminals to endure, and we can only hope that Mr Howard relents and brings in something milder, such as chain gangs.
Jonathan R. Partington, September 1995