Mr B and I would agree that one of our most frequent "debates" is over shopping. I kid you not.
When I was a Working Gal, all those years ago, Mr B used to do all our
shopping. Honestly, he knew the price of a loaf of bread or a tin of baked beans. Not that many people do, in my opinion. He knew all about consulting those notices written in small print and placed below eye level underneath each product on the supermarket
shelves, identifying the price per 100 gm. You would never, ever find Mr B buying a 400 gm jar of coffee if he could buy two 200 gm tins for less. I think Martin Lewis, that esteemed financial expert who is on our TV screens again tonight, would have done
well to employ Mr B as his Man in the Supermarket.
These days, the shopping business falls almost entirely to me, though occasionally the former Super Shopper will accompany me on his mobility scooter generally
when he has it fixed in his head that he fancies a couple of avocados, a handful of figs or a packet of walnuts - and doesn't quite trust me to source his requests. Especially when I insist on Shopping Local.
like using the local shops. I do, as regular readers know, rely on the Man from Ocado in his fruit or vegetable decorated van to fetch and carry all the heavy stuff - but a daily trip to the local shops to pick up meat from the butchers, bird seed from the
pet shop, greetings cards from the Guild Care charity shop is part of my routine. When rain threatens I pay a quick visit to the café where I can pick up a cup of coffee for £1.50 and read the Daily Mirror - which always reminds me of my Mum and
Dad as it used to be their Newspaper of Choice.
As an impressionable seven year old, I remember our class being set the task of writing a newspaper article about a missing child being found and returned to
her parents. "I can tell your parents read the Daily Mirror!" my teacher commented disparagingly, nose wrinkled up in disdain. Looking back, I am horrified to think how a thoughtless remark like that could affect a child's view of his or her parents.
Still, I digress. While I like to Shop Local, Mr B still worships at the Shrine of Tesco. Whenever I return from a shopping trip and have to confess that I have been unable to source his latest request, he will shake
a Sorrowful Head and say I should have gone to Tesco's.
It is possible, therefore, that Mr B may be welcoming the news today that supermarkets are contemplating the introduction of slow lanes at their check-outs
especially for those who have reached a Great Age and like to linger over their shopping for a companionable chat. He is probably reckoning that the opportunities this initiative will provide for shameless eavesdropping - in the interests, you understand,
of gathering choice material for the Daily Blog - will prove quite irresistible.
What he has failed to realise is that, if driven to visit any large supermarket, my modus operandi is to go armed with a list,
to home in on each item on my list, add it to my basket, then head for self-service where, if I can manage not to introduce anything unexpected into the bagging area, I can pay up and exit in record time.
shopping, Jim, but not as Mr B knows it...