Abandoning a child to an hour of sporting activity with promises of being back in 10 mins, I hurried off on Saturday to a small supermarket close by. One bottle of milk was needed - albeit a 4 pint bottle - and then I supposed some bread for lunch would be a good idea. The apples looked tastier (mirror, mirror on the wall blood red); but not to worry, these items would all fit into the bag I'd brought with me. The quick-shop sized trolley that I'd inadvertently collected instead of a basket soon filled; how can it be possible to get through a weekend without at least half a pint of cream and a bottle of wine? If I bought this chicken, it would save de-frosting the one at home in the freezer, much easier. BBQ the next day? Why not? Coals, salad stuff, the requisite amount of meat...
"Would you like any bags?"
Well, with the best will in the world my family sized four pints, which had morphed into 2 such bottles, wouldn't fit into my bring-along bag alongside all the other essentials! "£74, please." Punching numbers on a pin pad is too easy a method of payment, painless, which is perhaps their intention. I'd had enough cash for the milk.
It was a small supermarket in a provincial town and the exit strategy to the car left a little to be desired. Young trees, old men, discarded rubbish, loose paving stones set like man traps ready to ping your feet either 6" higher than the other, or down, catching ankles in doing so. The ground was on a natural slope, so the bags slipped downside, the font of the trolley swung round, but with so little shopping (only the milk and one or two extras after all), I marvelled at my control.
The cross-country route seemed quickest. To walk to the nearest designated deliberately designed slope as access point to the car park, would mean trailing behind at least 3 more people, none of whom were in a Saturday morning hurry.
Amazing what flight trajectory can be achieved when pushing at pace off the edge of a pavement. Think Thelma and Louise, we sailed through the air and clunked onto the tarmac (that was just my knees), hands still on the trolley handle and willing my legs to follow suit. Three hours sleep the night before hadn't enabled my brain or body to have co-ordination of thought or action. Tomatoes rolled, bread, (carefully placed on top of the shopping when packing), squished under the bag of charcoal and cereal skidded to a half under a smart looking sporty number (car, not man!).
In time to see the relevant child complete the second half of their lesson, I was happy simply to stand and watch, no tempting packaging or trolley racecourses in sight.
No comments:
Post a Comment