Shopping

With son number two recovering from a relatively mild bout of ‘you know what’ in his house on the other side of Bristol, someone needed to do his shopping. No one else was available so muggins here had to visit our local Asda to help feed a 21 year old with an industrial-sized appetite. I swear that if I haven’t caught Covid-19 after this experience, then I never will.

First of all, I rather like our local Asda store. It’s not too big but it’s generally big enough to get the things you need and the staff are well-trained and friendly. Today, barriers had been erected to ensure that people entered and left the store through separate doors. Everything seemed hunky dory until I got inside.

If the twain was never to meet outside the store, it certainly met inside where I was immediately confronted with shoppers busily going about their way without a care in the world. The two metre separation recommended by government had plainly not been heard by many of these shoppers, not least those – and I hate to say it, again – elderly shoppers who seem to regard shopping as a social exercise, a family outing best practiced by standing still in the middle of each aisle. It felt like a death wish, except that I doubted whether these people had done anything thinking at all.

My shop seemed to take an eternity since my son’s requested goods appeared to be dotted everywhere and I didn’t feel like pestering the already flat-out staff members who had far more vital matters to attend to than helping me find the post scratchings. Criss-crossing the store frequently, I was well aware that our chief medical officer would give me a right bollocking, if only he wasn’t currently laid up with Covid-19. I was acutely aware this was not the safest or best way for an old asthmatic to spend his day.

I felt more for the staff who are surely doomed to succumb sooner or later. I could see they were trying oh so hard to maintain the social distancing that so many customers were ignoring.

There were plenty of people wearing masks too, safe in the knowledge that in most instances they are as useful as a chocolate fireguard. Others were using scarves pulled up to their eyes. I am not an expert but I suspect the health benefits of scarves in terms of fighting off Covid-19 are minimal to non-existent. Wearing these supposed cautionary items did seem to persuade the wearers that it was now safe to ignore the social distancing regulations and if it made them feel better, who am I to take the piss?

In terms of the shelves, most items were on sale except for eggs and baked beans. There were toilet rolls galore, possibly because the fearful and panic-stricken have, at last, realised that the very last places to close will be supermarkets. And possibly their freezers were full of toilet rolls anyway.

Shopping completed, I left through the designated exit only to be confronted by people who clearly didn’t know the difference between entrance and exit and tried to batter their way in through the out door. I transferred the boy’s shopping from the trolley to my car and covered my hands in oodles of my final supplies of hand sanitiser, which may have been in vain if my in store experiences were anything to go by.

I’m happy to be home again now, hermetically sealed in my Man Cave. I haven’t started coughing yet, but I’m fully expecting to before long.