September 2010
Shopping is not my favourite pastime. In fact I hate it. I put off going to the shops until the milk crisis becomes critical. No milk and someone coming round for coffee is usually what drive me to the nearest supermarket. The irritation begins as soon as I find a space in the car park. £1 for the meter, £l for the trolley. Never have two £l coins when you need them.
Once inside I usually find they've changed it all round and hidden everything I need. I wish they wouldn't do that. First on the list fruit, apples, what to choose, French, Spanish, Jamaican? Where are the English ones. Oh well doesn’t really matter they all taste the same. I'll have the French they don’t have so far to travel, however hard I check there always seems to be a mouldy one lurking at the bottom of the bag. What is that posh woman in the hat doing? She's eating the grapes!
What a cheek. I suppose you could come in here and have lunch, no one would notice. I wander down each aisle dropping things into the trolley, it's all so confusing; cheese for instance, there must be thirty different makes with silly names I can't pronounce. What happened to good old cheddar?
Down the frozen food aisle, chips, do I want thick cut, thin cut, medium, crinkle cut, wedges, shapes? Oh bring back the chip pan. On to the baked beans, you have to be careful here, they have a habit of changing into alphabetti spaghetti by the time you get them home, or worse still they sneak those horrid little sausages into the can. At the bread department there always seems to be a bottleneck and I can't get the trolley past the huge cage the assistance has wheeled there and abandoned. I feel a touch of trolley rage creeping over me, it's time to leave. Off to the check out. I pick the shortest queue, the woman in front has only a few items in her basket. That's par for the course, her friend is coming with an armful of extra things. I bet she's one of those people who puts everything in bags then searches for her purse, very slowly. Yes I thought so; oh no she's left her purse in the car.
We wait . . . and wait. Where did she park? Hadleigh? She finally comes back with a fistful of 2p off vouchers and can't remember her PIN. I am rapidly losing the will to live.
I finally escape. Phew it’s good to be back home. Now unpack and make a cup of tea. Oh hell . . . I forgot the milk!