In Gordonvale the second-hand shop is located slap-bang in the centre of the main street. This makes it rather difficult to sneak in there undetected as I was very anxious to do on this day. I parked in a side street and cast a furtive glance around before leaving my car - no-one in sight; good.

I donned my disguise: sun-glasses and a virulently yellow cap that I could tug down over my eyes. Almost confident in my new-found invisibility, I sidled up the street, scurrying past the pub on the corner in case some sharp-eyed early drinker might be sober enough to see through my brilliant attempt to remain incognito. A quick scan of the main drag revealed no obvious dangers - nobody I knew sipping coffee at the sidewalk tables outside the cafe, no old friends of my wife gossiping in the morning sunshine outside the news agent and, most incredibly, not even Sam the Butcher lounging against his shop doorway. Phase 1 complete.

Now for the shop itself. Averting my face and with a deceptive turn of speed, I slipped past the gaunt old biddy on guard duty at the front counter and slunk into the dim inner recesses where I knew my prize awaited me. Sure enough, there it was, pushed untidily to the back of the top shelf. Carefully I inspected it for the requisite qualities: size, durability, internal composition, outer covering soft but strong.

The most dangerous part of my mission awaited me, but there was no way I could avoid it. Carefully I counted out the appropriate change so I could make the payment quickly and escape with my purchase. However, disaster struck as I placed the object on the counter.

"Oh, isn't that a beauty?" squealed Ms Gaunt at the top of her high-pitched lungs. "I've been wondering when someone would take that one. Doris, come and see what this nice gentleman has bought!"

Hurriedly I threw the purchase price on the counter and muttered a red-faced apology as I dashed for the door before old Doris could hobble from the back room to join her shrill-voiced colleague in gushing adulation of my purchase.

"You be sure to give him a good home now. He's rather special you know. We called him Thomas ...."

Ms Gaunt's shriek faded as I beat a hasty retreat through the door and out into the sunlit street. The game was up now, and speed, feigned poor eyesight and a sudden case of deafness would all be required if I was to escape with honour intact. The previously deserted street suddenly bustled with life. Latte-sippers raised hands in greeting; at least three of my wife's sewing circle formed a posse and set off to intercept me and Sam the Butcher hailed me from his doorway perch. Ignoring them all I scuttled past the pub where a chorus of invitations hung unheeded on the air as I made it to the safety of my car.

Back home, my two dogs formed a welcoming committee. As if sensing where I had been and what I had done they snuffled frantically at the package and snatched it from my hands before I got in the door. Smiling and relaxed at last, I watched as they each seized one limb and began an excited tug-of-war. Within minutes the hard-won purchase lay dismembered in the yard and my canine companions romped amongst the artificial snowstorm they had created as they disembowelled Thomas, the exquisite stuffed white teddy bear.