My somewhat limited on-line shopping skills are usually brought into sharp focus when I need to make one of many ‘supplementary shops’ in addition to The Big Shop which arrives every Friday morning. When just this morning my partner suggested that I make a chicken curry for tea tonight, it soon became evident that I had purchased almost none of the necessary ingredients, least of all chicken. Plenty of beer, of course, as well as cheese and a Cornish pasty, but the items required to actually prepare a meal? A trip to our local Aldi and then Sainsbury’s was required.
As usual, I took a list with me which I then managed to misplace. Good start, eh? Having then found it in my card wallet which, as ever, was in my pocket, I set forth to Aldi, via a return visit to my car to collect some bags with which to pack the shopping.
I rather like Aldi, which in German stands for ‘noble’ and ‘old’, half of which definitely applies to me. Walking down the central aisle, I somehow managed to resist the temptation to buy a Mosaic Bistro Set, a Solar Water Feature, a Garden Hose assortment and a 14 inch Hanging Basket and, almost unheard of for me, stuck to the things on my list. The whole place is unpretentious, packed with items that look, but aren’t, named products and everything is much cheaper than where I went next, Sainsbury’s.
Morning shops in Sainsbury’s are therapeutic in the sense that for a short time at least I am not the oldest person in the room. Soggy liberal lefty that I am, I pick up this week’s edition of ‘New European’ and spend a few moments rearranging the newspapers so that the old women who enjoy some light fascism with their morning tea and biscuits have to search long and hard to find their copy of the Daily Mail. I am sure that if asked, the old girls would come up with the sort of thing people always say – “I only get it for the crossword and my husband likes the sport” – but I am never convinced. I feel smug as I flaunt my organ (that’s the New European, in case you were wondering) which bears the headline “Not winning but drowning – why Nigel Farage is a cunt”. (I may have changed a few words at the end but that’s the gist of it. ) Have that, I think.
Like most old people, I mourn the passing of the ‘deli’ counter, where the geriocracy would gather in order to purchase things like two slices of Yorkshire ham and a Scotch egg. It always reminded me of 1960’s Brislington (Briz as it’s known by Bristolians) where there was a ‘dairy shop’ with it’s deli counter, although the term deli was not used at the time. And my dear old grandma worked in the ‘dairy’ on Sandy Park Road, also in Briz, which I think today is one of those new fangled trendy delis, selling anti pasti, olives and low gluten Scotch eggs. Nellie would be turning in her urn if she saw it today.
Meanwhile, back in Sainsbury’s and I’m trundling along the aisle selling books and magazines, dodging zimmer frames and walking sticks. It’s the busiest place in the store and the busiest part of the aisle is the place hosting the gossip magazines, like Hello!, Closer, Bella and Chat. I have entered a world that seems to be completely unhinged.
Hello! leads with an interview with ‘Princess Di’s much trusted astrologer, Debbie Frank’ in which we learn that Kate Middleton is set to embark upon a “meaningful personal journey” in 2025, according to the stars, obviously. Kate is ‘rising to the top’ and ‘climbing her own spiritual mountain’, all whilst discovering the power of nature. That’s clear enough, then. This doesn’t stop an endless flow of excited customers collecting their copies and playing into their trolleys which are already bursting with Werther’s Originals, Rich tea biscuits and half a pound of medium cheese. Oh wait, that was my trolley (just kidding, honest).
The other magazines lead with similar celebrity tat. ‘This baby will save us!’ Meghan Markle has supposedly informed former minor royal and top author Prince Harry and TV person Amanda Holden (54) says ‘It’s time for surgery’. And, incredibly, people pay good money for this stuff. As a loyal reader of ‘Railway Magazine’ over many years, I remain baffled. Give me a Deltic over a royal any day of the week.
The self-service tills have been a life-saver to me. I never could stand waiting in a seemingly endless queue as people fumble through their purses and wallets to find the change to pay for their goods. Just use a card or your phone like everyone else? ‘No. Cash is king,’ they tend to reply. ‘It’s a worldwide conspiracy by the deep state to enslave us all. I saw it on the internet.’ They probably saw it in the Daily Mail, too, and Hello! for all I know.
That’s me shopping, part people-watching, baffled and amused; situation normal. Where would I be without it?
Today, I have to complete this week’s on-line shop so what can I forget next? Hmm, let’s see. Beer, cheese and, my God, those Ginsters products look good. ‘What’s for Sunday dinner?’ How about microwaved chips, fish fingers and frozen leeks? “No, let’s make a supplementary shop,’ she announces, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Good idea, I reply, searching for a hole to crawl into. I’m so bad at shopping, if I went window shopping I’d probably come back with various windows. What time are we leaving? ‘As soon as the Morrison’s delivery has been.’ Oh.
