I wasn't in Mr B's good books this afternoon.
We'd driven to Sainsbury's armed with a pocket calculator and a token offering us £12 off a £60 shop. What's
not to like, I asked my Other Half, especially if we aimed to spend no more than £60, leaving further purchases for later in the week when we would have another 20% off token to redeem.
I was doing so
well, too. I even managed to exert control on the pocket calculator so that when we reached the check-out both the till and the calculator agreed that we had spent exactly £61.07. The cheerful lad on the check-out was surprised that we had only bought
five bottles of wine. Why not six? he queried. Which was when I explained that we had had to put one bottle back or we would have gone over our spending target. He looked at us as if we were mad.
At this point,
everything went badly wrong. I handed over my token with a smile of self-satisfaction - which turned into a grimace of dismay as the Cheerful One informed us that our token was one day out of date. I could have sworn today was the 11th but apparently it's
the 12th. Mr B's verdict on my date blindness was not repeatable in polite company.
The sweet woman on the Customer Services desk says if I bring an in-date coupon in before the end of the week, with my receipt,
she can reimburse me my £12. She has saved my life, I tell her. Mr B hurrumphs a bit but accepts that we have found a Way Out. We drive home with only a few mild recriminations floating about my date-muddled head.
Tonight we are watching the final day of the Masters golf tournament in Augusta. Well, we are not actually in Augusta ourselves you understand, we are in our living room, in front of the TV, feeling pleasantly full after a most delicious roast lamb
dinner. Mr B appears to have forgiven me; he hasn't mentioned the Token Trouble once in the last half hour.
I am having a bit of trouble with the sub-titles on screen. They are just so wildly inaccurate that
my eye is inexorably drawn to them at the expense of watching the actual play. I know what's happening - some years ago, after an operation on my shoulder, an occupational therapist insisted that my employer instal Voice Recognition Software on my computer
before I could be allowed back to work. The howlers generated by the program's complete inability to understand my diction were legendary in the office. At least I wasn't broadcasting across the globe. Or, as the sub-titles would probably have it, the grove.
I am also troubled by the fact that all the golfers have changed their clothes since yesterday when I briefly tuned in to acquaint myself with Who's Who in preparation for today. I knew who all the main players were
by the colour of their shirts and trousers. Today it's all change at Augusta. Justin Rose is wearing white - possibly because he thinks it will look smarter if (when?) he wins the tourney and dons the Green Jacket at the end of the day. According to the sub-titles,
he is putting on the passion - or, rather, the pressure. Perhaps the sub-titles have interpreted correctly for once. At least I can recognise Ian Poulter, in glorious purple-checked trousers. Or what we call "Rupert Bears" in our family.
I hope you are impressed with my obvious grasp of the game. Mr B, sadly, is not. It would be good if I could continue to enlighten you with my observations right up until the end but the leaders are only on the third hole and
there are fifteen to go, not counting the nineteenth which, I understand, is the Watering Hole and doesn't count. I think you might fall asleep before you reached the end of the blog. Which would be a pity.
The golfers will go on golfing, gaining bogeys, double bogeys, birdies, eagles and albatrosses along the way. I will be none the wiser, especially if I keep reading the sub-titles. Mr B says he can't turn them off for some reason which is as difficult
to fathom as why Rory McIlroy has chosen to wear a ghastly fluorescent yellow shirt on this final day.
By tomorrow the tournament will be won and lost. It will be, as tomorrows always are, Another Day.
Hopefully I will get the date right, second time around.