Me and My Shopping

I am not good at shopping. I should be – I do it often enough. I’m talking here about practical shopping – Sainsbury’s and Tesco shopping. I have no store loyalty btw. I go to ‘Burys when I’m at home and Tesco when I’m at work. Unless I have a whim and do otherwise. My only act of loyalty is not going to Asda or Kwik Save because, well, they’re rather plebby. One can almost hear one’s old headmaster saying "Old Stops do not go to ‘Kwik Save’" and spitting the word out as if it were an out of date macaroon served to him by an inexperienced servant.

I am chugging along in my little car and I try to think about what I need. It is always a bad question to ask myself as it tends to get a little bit out of proportion. What is "milk" compared to "purpose in life"? The melodramatic side of me takes over and my list becomes full of things that even a concept-store cannot offer. My local Sainsbury’s will offer Tai Chi and personal shoppers (at a small fee) but can’t help as far as ‘job satisfaction’, ‘friends’, ‘hair that doesn’t make me look as if I’ve had a nightmare’ and ‘someone who doesn’t think I’m weird’ are concerned. Thus I go through the electronic doors with a maudlin sense of self worthlessness, a debit card and a big trolley. Not a good combination.

I know that bread shouldn’t go at the bottom because it will get squashed and that frozen things will thaw out so you must get them last. That’s it as far as logical progression round the store is concerned. I hurtle up and down isles looking for something that will change my life, make me happy, stop my hair from looking as if I’ve just woken up from a terrible dream or is Buy One Get One Free. I find bargains hard to resist. Never mind that I’d never use, eat or drink one of them let alone two. Worse still are the BOGOFs which ARE of use. That’s how I end up with a freezer full of ice cream which obviously has to be eaten or it’ll turn into poison. Or something. Today they had Haaaagen Daaaaz on offer. There is something magical about the way they combine your actual ice cream with biscuits that haven’t even been baked yet and turn it into heaven on earth. It makes Harry Potter look like Harry Carpenter.

But even though I’m feeling miserable, woozy from the strip lighting, annoyed by every single living being in the shop and utterly baffled as to how I ended up surrounded by feminine hygiene products when last time I looked I was in the crisps section (like I’d wandered through a potato chip wardrobe and ended up in menstrual Narnia) I still get one twinge of superiority from supermarket shopping. I have never sunk so low as to buy pre-grated cheese. I have never found myself so utterly lacking in self respect that I have been unable to grate my own cheddar while making tea. It would be one thing if the grated stuff was some kind of rare cheese but it isn’t. It is ordinary cheese which costs ten times as much because it has been grated. It’s enough to make you think the communists were right during the cold war – we are a decadent society. Except they wore fur hats so they must be baddies.

I occasionally try to do a Holmes when I’m standing at the checkout and looking at what the person in front is buying. I’m rubbish at it (though obviously I have no way of knowing whether I’m right or wrong as the person, like a thief in the night or a life partner, is gone before you’ve got to know anything about them). I shudder to think what people must think when they look at what I’ve got in my trolley. I panic buy and end up with stupid things. I ask you, if push came to shove, which is more useful – a pint of milk or a scented candle? Exactly. And the breakfast ceral. I’m nearly twenty-something-late and shouldn’t be buying cereal with cartoon characters on it. I should be on sensible products which stress their nutritional value rather than emphasising the bit of plastic that’s inside. Even more than that, I should be buying ingredients rather than finished products. Nothing tells the world more clearly that I cannot cook than my supermarket trolley. Not that I buy meals-for-one or anything like that. Just pizzas, Supernoodles and tins of soup. That sort of thing. The closest I get to an ingredient is the house brick sized slab of good old Cheddar (mature, strength 4 because I am tough and butch and like my cheese to taste like real cheese). There are no vegetables, no flour, no tubs of herbs or spices. It displays the very much temporary nature of my existence. It’s like I’ve just moved in to a new flat and all my pots and pans are still in boxes. I have to have Wheetos for tea because my cooker still hasn’t arrived from Comet. I’ll stick a pizza in the oven because I’ve got the decorator coming round to give an estimate for doing the whole place up and I haven’t got time to cook. Only none of that is true. Everything in the kitchen is where it ought to be and has been for yonks. I just don’t use it. I’m still a student in my heart of hearts. In those days I could go for weeks on toast and orange juice. I probably still could except that now I can afford pizzas and chocolate too.

So that’s the all fine and large part of shopping. I am inept at it but you could’ve guessed that from the fact that I’m inept at everything, including writing about how inept I am at things. Now I’m going to put nice me to one side and should for a moment. Those with sensitive ears or pets might want to look at away.

WHY CAN THE PROLES NOT PUT SHOPPING TROLLEYS IN THE SHOPPING TROLLEY BAYS THAT ARE PROVIDED? WHY DO THEY INSIST ON LEAVING THEM ALL OVER THE CARPARK? WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH THESE RETARDED PEOPLE? WHAT MAKES THEM LEAVE THEM IN AN EMPTY SPACE WHEN THERE IS A PROPER PLACE A FEW YARDS AWAY? DON’T THEY THINK ANYONE MIGHT WANT THAT SPACE? DON’T THEY REALISE THAT TROLLEYS HAVE WHEELS AND MIGHT ROLL INTO THE ROAD? THESE MORONS SHOULD BE SHOT THROUGH THE GENITALS. I HATE PEOPLE.

Supernoodles, for those still with us, are rather fab on toast. I just thought I’d share a culinary tip with you so you didn’t feel the last few minutes was a complete waste of time.