Since the consultation period began, I have started venturing into that dangerous arena known as ‘grocery shopping on a week day’. In an effort to save some money I have managed to avoid using my preferred home delivery service (“£5.99 to delivery within the half hour you desire”, err, no thank you… for the time being anyway) and am now clocking up the miles to and from the nearest supermarket.
Wonderful to remember what produce actually looks like on display. Amazing the ranges of items that perform the same function (aka how one bleach can be more bleach than another bleach, aside from the colour of the bottle). Interesting the varieties of cereal that ultimately all taste identical to Mr Man, Blossom and Widget, give or take a dried cranberry.
So bearing in mind how conscientious I am trying to be, how do you think I felt when upon returning to the crowded car park I found myself unable to get near the driver’s door, let alone around the front (or back) of the vehicle because some prat had decided in their wisdom to park so close, at an angle and well over the designated bay? Exactly.
Pig, I thought. And then I remembered that spare red lipstick in the glove box.
Let’s just say if you saw anyone in a large silver SUV driving around this afternoon with a very smeared front windscreen, that was my doing.
Oh, and did I get out? Of course. I did not learn to drive on narrow, winding, two-way cobblestone roads for nothing. And that was after the athletic manoeuvres to get Widget into his car seat first.
No point offending if you then cannot make a clean getaway.