Saturday Morning Sainsburys

 

The fridge told me I had to go to Sainsburys.
What had been a comforting sight of milk, bread, meat and cheese,
now stood skeleton like in its emptiness.  Admittedly some cheese was on the top shelf, I saw it moving slowly as I peered in.  A bottle of beer was in the door, although it has been half empty since last Thursday.  Also, there was half a Spring onion lying around.
I had to go out.
My knees on the other hand took a different view.
“No.” they said firmly, “remain in bed for the day.”
Here my stomach, now blocking the view towards my feet, intervened.
I had no choice, I had to go.
Just about eight of the clock I stumbled down the stairs, trying not to wake the house, and slowly emerged into the sunlight.  No-one was about.  It was a few minutes before a car or two appeared, as jogger bounded across the park, a black woman on the other side wandered dreamily away from town.  I passed three Asian women, probably finishing the night shift in the care home opposite, gossiping, a car or two headed for the supermarket.  The sun continued to shine.
My lethargy took me across the car park, slowly moving out of the way of a car I did not perceive was trying not to knock me down, and groaned at the siege works surrounding the building.
Work was underway, but not on a Saturday, to fix, amend, or change the roof, or wall, to the building.  This caused a great diversion which meant a long walk around the six-foot-high fencing placed there.  I could have done without this.
I noticed men of a certain age coming from their chariots, paying their car park fees, and heading quickly into the store.  All men, rarely a woman, as the men wished to be in and out before the women cause trouble with their trolleys and winging at the checkout.
Me, I never whinge.
My stomach said “Feed me,” my knees said, “I’ll get you for this,” and creaked and groaned like a losing fan at the football.  I wanted to go home.  I selected a basket, I say ‘selected,’ but there was no other choice but basket or armful, and headed into the vegetation.
By ‘vegetation,’ I refer to the first stalls which are fruit and vegetables, I do not refer to the staff.
Mind you…
My shopping list, and I have discovered I must always carry one, was short and to the point.  I just required important stuff, whisky, Brandy, chocolate, bread, and milk.  So I flopped my way around trying not to be crashed into by one small man in a hurry.  He reminded me of myself in the days of long ago, rushing round to get out quickly.  These days I just stumble on.
No-one had as yet appeared to work the checkout.  This meant fighting the self-service machine. This can be easy, but the brandy, whisky, and cheap plonk which accidentally fell into the basket were going to upset the woman in the self-service machine.
Immediately I was in trouble.  “Someone is coming to help you,” she lied.  Then the small things did not register that they were in the basket, and the brute would not let me continue until I had shaken the bag, twice.  I put through the last of the items, large ones first and fill up the spaces with the small bits, and then it stopped.  “Someone is coming to help you.”  She wanted proof I was over 25.
At this point I stood there helpless as the only staff member was with another customer.  She is an excellent woman, always helpful and always attempting to be friendly and cheerful.  However, the wee man next to me in a hurry called out, “I need your help.”  Having finished her job she came over to him, though he knew I was waiting before him.  I graciously said nothing while quoting Psalm 37 to myself.
The woman came eventually, confirmed I was over 25, as required by supermarkets these days in an effort to keep the kids out, and I paid the £20:65 as requested, the cheapest for some time, and made for home.
There were more cars in the car park, still mostly men driving in.
I slowly dragged my way across the park manoeuvring in between cars in a desperate effort to speed my exit up.  This did not work.
I passed the Sainsburys delivery man who was awaiting those collecting their goods.  Having the store collect your supplies, and then drive in and collect them yourself sounds a good idea for many.  Hopefully they will not change your order too much when things are not available…
A tall thin black woman opened the door of the chemist car sat outside the shop.  She dumped something inside and ran off.  Round the corner she climbed into a huge  maroon coloured BMW larger than a Land Rover Discovery, and I then realised she was the chemist in charge.   It appears she is a very competent chemist as they have at least two shops and many side issues also.
The sun shone, more cars began to appear, again mostly men, a few with womenfolk also, and a straggler or two appeared on the pavement.   The corner shop had his gardening stuff on display, tables of flowers out, and I suspect his wife to cover the shop while he went to a Boot Sale to make money selling the stuff collected clearing houses.  It’s a hard life making a fortune in his business.
Home.  “Rejoice!” said my knees.  
Only the stairs to climb.
Put the bag two or three ahead of me, drag myself up, and naturally the stair light went out half way up.  I’m sure he has adjusted the timing deliberately.
Inside, dripping sweat, dumping things into the fridge to make it appear full again.
The freezer is full as the pies are still there.  It has been to hot for such things, and they are taking up space.  One or two ice packs, soon to be used, are also taking up space.
Coffee, relax, cool down, and then remember I must go out again, go down to the basement to read the electric meter before they ‘guess’ my usage.  My stomach laughs, my knees groan, and I groan also.
Another day of joy...