Down and out in the Merchant City

work it out), but training videos. ''Cheaper than sending them on

courses,'' he was heard to mutter.

These might be incredibly boring, self-righteous things, but at least

they give you some insight into the Chairman's opinion of you, which can

be useful.

''What did you get?'' I asked Ms Angelica Banana-Skyne, the High

Whitecraigs polymath, at coffee yesterday. ''Understanding Stress,'' she

said, ''and professional image-building. How to make people feel

confident in you, etc.'' Oh dear, we said.

The Braces said his had been Concentration Exercises, with hints about

proper desk-organisation. Planning and achievement for the day ahead. Oh

dear, we said.

''And you?'' they asked. I waved my little box at them; the cover read

Beat Procrastination, with tips on how to listen properly. Oh dear, they

said. Have you watched it yet?

No, I said. I'm putting it off. Aha, they said.

* IT was one of those bright, balmy lunchtimes when the financial

sector rolls up its sleeves, bares its freckles, and heads for the

nearest park. Not having a park handy, the Braces and I headed for the

nearest graveyard. We stretched out on the grass, several feet above the

well-mulched remains of Angus McClitheroe, merchant, 1799-1851, ''Arise,

shine, for thy light is come''.

''Sandwiches?'' I asked The Braces.

''Damn,'' he said. ''Left 'em in my briefcase.''

''Money?'' I asked.

''Damn,'' he said. ''Ditto.''

Down and out in the Merchant City, we listened for a while to the dull

rumble of traffic. Then I realised there was no traffic: I had been

listening to the rumble of our gastric juices, preparing for the usual

midday firefight, the clash of exotic flavours, the pan-fried veal etc.

Gastric juices do not listen when you tell them you've forgotten the

sandwiches.

''Tell you what I fancy for lunch,'' said The Braces. ''A starter of

taramasalata and aubergines in olive oil. A simple main course, perhaps

a slice or two of pizza. Then a good cheese board, the products of many

lands and cultures.''

I said I could go that too. ''Then follow me,'' said The Braces,

rising from the grave.

In the first supermarket, The Braces took a wire basket, placed in it

a tin of beans, and headed for the deli counter. ''Like to try some

samples?'' asked the nice motherly lady with the badge that said

Marjorie. ''This pink stuff is called taramasalata. It's Greek. Ever

heard of it? And here we've got a new line: dried aubergines in olive

oil.''

Hum, said The Braces. Well, if you insist. We ate our starter with

much judicious nodding, tried seconds just to make sure, and wandered

off. Before we left, The Braces replaced the tin of beans on the shelf

and jettisoned the basket. ''Sorry,'' he told the girl at the checkout,

''I've come without my blasted wallet,'' and that at least was true.

The second supermarket was doing pizzas and the third was doing

cheeses. A very pleasant lunch indeed, although I have never before

walked so far between courses.

Back at McClitheroe's, The Braces told me he had come across the

nether-world of in-store sampling while researching Low's, Tesco,

Sainsbury's and all that. In the States, he said, the samples are so big

that most people do their shopping at lunchtime. This year, American

food suppliers will spend more than #130m on freebies.

''Does it sell food?'' I asked. You bet, he told me. Sales tripled for

some items. About 60% of shoppers try, and one third of them buy.

''Unless, of course, they have forgotten their wallets?'' I said

drily. Well, there's always that, said The Braces.