Oh dear, today I was a Walking Disaster. I now know what it must be like to be Our Rascal, though he doesn't appear to suffer the same qualms of conscience that beset me.
choir and the usual meeting of the Bacon Bap Brigade in the community centre cafe, I headed off for Tesco's to pick up some cod loins and prawns for dinner - Mr B's special request. I did not want to be there, to be honest. Mr B, when he was our Principal
Shopper, loved Tesco's. Our local store is one of the biggest in the South East but Mr B's mantra has always been The Bigger the Better where supermarkets are concerned. I, on the other hand, prefer my shops small and friendly. Since I took over the mantle
of Principal Shopper, I have generally been able to follow my heart, shopping-wise, but every so often Mr B will come up with a request which involves me in a visit to Superstore-Land. Like today.
I felt I
should spell out this background information because it probably goes some way to explain why I turned into a Walking Disaster. It's all a question of mood and I was - unquestionably - in a bad one. Usually I am a veritable Ray of Sunshine, albeit occasionally
a rather weak one. Today, I confess, I was a trifle stormy.
One of my ways of coping with the whole Tesco Superstore Experience is to go through the self-service tills which generally speed me on my way, always
providing I don't have "unexpected items in the bagging area". Unexpected to whom, I wonder? I know exactly what's in the bagging area. Today was a Bad Day in self-service. Of the six tills, one was out of order, one was only taking cash and the other three
all had lights flashing manically above them to indicate that they had unexpected items in the bagging area or something equally surprising. When it came to my turn, I crammed my shopping into the one carrier bag I had remembered to bring and steamed out of
the store and into the chemist next door to collect Mr B's cough medicine.
"Did you know?" enquired a fellow shopper at the counter, "that you are leaking milk all over the floor?" He posed the question in
an annoyingly "more in sorrow than in anger" tone of voice . I looked down to see that I had, indeed, left a Milky Way in my wake. One of the cartons of Cravendale milk crammed so recklessly into my carrier bag, was definitely leaking.
I apologised profusely to the sweet shop assistant who said, bless her, that it did not matter at all. She went to find a cloth with which to mop up my milky trail. Maybe, I suggested, she might want to wait till I had safely vacated
the premises before mopping up after me?
My observant fellow shopper said I should go back to Tesco's to complain but, honestly, I didn't have the energy. Instead I wound my Milky Way back to the car where
I endeavoured to prop up the Leaky One in the boot where I hoped it would leak no more. It was all in vain. By the time I arrived home, the boot was awash with milk.
Indoors I stomped to find the wherewithal
with which to clean the carpet in the car boot, explaining the whole sorry situation to Mr B who couldn't understand why I was so grumpy. "It's not my fault," he said. Don't you just hate it when people say that? It kind of implies that whatever it was, it
most definitely must have been your own fault. It's even worse when you know it was.
I decanted the milk from leaking carton into an empty one, then out to the fridge in the garage I stomped, crossly. So crossly,
in fact, that I must have pulled open the fridge door just a little too firmly and a whole tub of peaches in juice sort of jumped out and crashed to the floor. A Walking Disaster, that's me.
my sense of well-being I was meeting up with friends Sue and Eleanor in the afternoon. I briefly outlined my Trying Morning and wallowed in their sympathetic response. Eleanor said, in the interests of making me feel better, that she had herself tipped a whole
carton of blueberries over the kitchen floor this very morning. Sue hadn't dropped anything but she did make sure that she carried our drinks to our table, rather than leaving it to me.
You really can't take
any chances, can you, when faced with a Walking Disaster?