Shorn Men and Morrisons

From my eyrie in the sky I watch shorn men wandering about, their hair tidy for the first time in months.  This causes me to wonder what they do with all the shorn hair?  Now I suspect for health reasons this is dumped, however, is there anyone who would buy a job lot of used hair?  You could fill soft toys with it, pillows, cushions, feed it to animals who may not care what they eat, possibly such leavings could be put on the compost heap and added to the garden, the ticks therein would feed the ground quite well.  

You can tell just how much LockDown has got to me...

People all around are meeting folks unseen for months, the cry "I haven't seen you since the plague" is quite common I note.  Families can bother one another, mates meet up outside pubs, women chattering noisily outside coffee haunts all around.  Still too chilly for me I say but many are risking it.  At the barbers one man told us how he headed for the local as soon as he could, having a Guinness and a sandwich and heading back home where it was warm.  A bit daft I thought, if it's that chilly stay indoors in the warm.  Some folks of course have no life outside of pubs, that is where they meet their friends as they may have no-one else to talk to.  All rather sad really.

 

 

 

'Morrisons' have upset people.  They are plastering their goods with this Union Flag.  It is on eggs, butter, cheese, veg and all other products.  Clearly this is a Government initiative.  Tesco have done this for a while, refusing to allow Scots or other flags on their produce.  I noticed today a Twitter account I follow, for an English regiment, now features the Union Flag alongside the name, a new item. 

This may well be a Brexit legacy.  The idea to force people to 'Buy British!'  The point being Brexit has stopped the goods we actually want coming into the country.  The fact that Scots, Welsh and Northern Irish flags are not encouraged also indicates government policy, forcing the Union nonsense upon us all in an election year.  

There is no 'Morrisons' in this town now.  They took over a failing store and failed to make it a success as the premises are too small for their needs.  A 'B&M' now uses the space well.  'Morrisons' have a store six miles away next to the station at a London overspill town.  This store has worked well for years and no doubt will continue to be a success as that is also a Brexit town.  'Morrisons' always made a thing about being cheaper than the bigger stores, this indeed is quite true, until you compare sizes.  Their tins, bottles, bags are cheaper but contain less goods than 'Tesco,' the contents are not always better, though they are acceptable, and now with Brexit shortages much more 'British' goods will be pushed by this company. 

Of course it goes without saying that when they use the term 'British,' what they are really trying to say is 'English,' but even they are not yet that brazen.

 

A few days ago I ventured into a new experience.  
I bought meat!  

Rising from my pauperism to a level known as 'poverty' I had the good fortune to receive one of those gift voucher cards for Christmas.  So clutching my card tightly in my grasping mitts I ventured up the road to the shop early in the morning.  The rain did not deter me, although I thought it unusual to rain on the first day of February - it’s usually snow!  Sloshing through the smaller puddles to avoid the rain getting in the holes in my boots I soon reached the destination, eager to buy.

It was at the store when I realised  I had a problem.

I hailed a passing assistant, “Meat,” I said, my eyes pleading.

“Over there,” said the lass, her eyes bright and glinting full of light and happiness.

“Thanks,”said I, “But, er, em, this meat, er,... what exactly is it? I haven’t bought any for a very long time”

Her eyes dimmed somewhat and she muttered something under her breath.  

Taking my hand, in the manner of a nurse in a care home, then letting it go suddenly and wiping hers on her uniform, she led me to the counter and explained the red things found therein.

“Some comes from cattle, that’s called beef, some from pigs, that’s called pork, and some from lamb and that’s called expensive.” She spoke as to a six year old.  

"And that?" I questioned, pointing to packets of blackish stuff.

"That's offal."

"If it's awful why is it on sale?"

She gave me a look that would send a shiver through Maggie Thatcher.

"I mean, that this is liver or kidneys."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. 

What's that over there?" Muttered I, my eyes blinded by the price tags.

"That's all Fowl that side."  

"Foul?"

"CHICKEN!" she said rather too loudly, her eyes becoming white balls with a black dot in the middle. Some people turned round and gave us that embarrassed smile, others moved away silently. I glanced at the prices, searching for those yellow price reduction ones.
"Chicken, goose and," she looked meaningfully at me as she added, "Turkey are all found over there.  Sausages and bacon over there!" She indicated this with an abrupt wave of her hand." 

" Hmmm what.....?" I began, but hesitated as I saw her eyes were now small slits, rather resembling those seen on pill boxes with machine guns peering out. "I, er, em......"

She wandered off clenching her paws and kicking the stick from under an old fellow who just happened to look towards her as she passed.  

I wandered back and forth, annoyed I had not asked her how to cook these strange red shapes, being a woman that sort of thing would come naturally.  I am more used to mince myself, however I was wary about asking another assistant.  There were several to be seen, including the two now picking up the old guy from the floor and returning his stick.  Selecting several items according to price, yellow label, and colour (I mean should meat be a dark greenish shade?) I hovered around until the security man returned once too often and moved further into the store.  

Glancing around I detected a lack of the 'Wal-Mart' types often seen on the web, most people appeared to be normal humans here.  I remembered the Tesco store in Portobello Road in London, now that would be a haunt of such types today I imagine.  Residents here indicate how boring this town is.

Checking the prices of my more usual stock I was impressed how the increase was constantly higher than the rate of inflation, however you calculate this. Supermarkets having killed of all opposition bar other major supermarkets are having a field day in times of austerity.  Beans that were selling at 9p a tin rose to 29p when the economy collapsed.  The store knew people would turn to 'own brand' goods and increased prices accordingly.  They could build a new store on the profit made of one weeks national sales of tins of beans I suspect.

Having carried my basket full of meat (meat!!) round the shop (I always use a basket as it is easier to get past the women with trolleys blocking the path) I selected several smaller items from the wines and spirits biscuit row and proffered my card at the smiling checkout assistant. This one smiles at everyone and her smile reminds me of the ‘Joker’ from the ‘Batman’ series.  I did not mention this.  I offered first the voucher card, then a small dollop of money to complete the purchase, gathered my several thin plastic bags, and struggled manfully homewards.

Passing my friendly helpful assistant as she stood near the entrance I offered a happy greeting and she spat out a retort I did not catch, however the 'Big Issue' seller opposite beat a hasty retreat.    

Now the freezer has sufficient for a month.  The cupboards are bulging, and when I eat I am almost satisfied with life.  I noticed today also that the helpful assistant now works for Morrison's up the road, you know, the store I never go into........

. 

Nothing to Say

Another day, another dull mind.  Nothing crosses my mind worth mentioning.  In fact nothing crosses my mind at all.  I only got out once, this afternoon, to buy reduced price bread and be shouted at by the Morrison's serve yourself machine.  The bread was not reduced and she didn't shout at me, which caused the lass attending to them to laugh.  First time that machine has done that for a while it appears.  

Nothing else happened.

The news is still dominated by the leftovers of the Olympics, occasional references to Syria and price increases on the trains.  Our Prime Minister and his deputy have both gone on holiday at the same time, implying the deputy is less important than he thinks, and giving the right wing media something to grumble about.  So who is running the country?  William Hague the Foreign Minister.  Oh goody, now is the time to invade folks.  The media will soon be filled with the daft stories now the Olympics have finished.  August being holiday time means serious news lessens and the 'silly season' comes upon us.  This means all sorts of silly stories appear in the media, anything to fill the pages, any excitement, anything that grabs the attention and on occasion something that really matters.  Nothing has mattered today.  

I found nothing that interests you, so I'm off to bed.........

.

Rainy Thursday

I sit here perusing the things done today while the rain pitter patters on the window once again, and I cannot remember what I have done today.  It has been quite busy but for the life of me nothing appears to have changed in here.  The 'To Do' list is now approaching its second volume, so I have not touched that, the carpet is gray with dust, so no hoovering, and the sink blocked with dishes, so that's normal.   What did I actually do?  I wrote a couple of e-mails to intelligent folk, begging, perused the press and was depressed by it, bought milk and bread and argued with the woman in 'Morrison's.'  Actually I argued with the 'self service' machine.  These brutes always go wrong for me, and this one is particularly bad.  Not only is it badly designed, possibly by a 'work experience' teenager, wearing headphones and a sulk, but the woman nags all the way through and at the wrong times.  The bag is to far from the basket of goods, the voice constantly tells you "Please wait for an assistant," although you are not aware of any fault, and of course it will not progress until a long suffering assistant arrives. 
"Place item in the bag," the ratbag says in that irksome voice. 
"IT'S IN THE B-A-G!" In inform her, "Please wait...."  
Eventually I enter four items only into the bag, choose, under her direction (three times) how to pay, enter the cash, once I have worked out how to, into the appropriate slot which doesn't look appropriate to me,  and stand there awaiting action. 
"Please enter your cash......"
"It's in woman, as your head will be soon!"
Assistant enquires wearily, and rushes of to other machine as "Please wait....," rings out. 
A short eon later the change arrives, the receipt pops out, just after "Please take your bag."
I head for the door muttering. 
 "No wonder your man left you, divorce was not enough, drowning in the bath would be better."   "Please take your bag" 
"I've got the bag woman!"  
"Thank you for shopping at Morrison's." 
"Get lost!"
Those smiling checkout girls at Tesco look better to me as I wander away, muttering......


Maybe now I know why I did so little after that......


.

Country Air

For the first time in a while I cycled, slowly, up the old railway line. I went around eleven as it is quiet then and stupid me forgot the kids are on holiday. Therefore as the sun was shining the families ponderously made their way up the line.  The kids chatting to all the dogs that passed by, when that is they were not wandering through the bushes, the women gossiping about nothing and blocking the way for normal human beings going about their lawful business. The dads being dads, carrying the bags on their backs, sometimes alone with one child, as indeed were a granddad or two, and making me miss the not so young kids way up north.  In one way this was nice to see, in another they just got in the way! A good day out and of course I ache all over now. I must get out more, as people often tell me.


I was attempting to add the 'Beach Boys' song 'Country Air,' because this came to mind when sitting enjoying the sun, greenery and fresh air.  EMI do not allow this (are they not the folks who turned 'The Beatles' down?) so find it on 'YouTube' and hum along as you read.  I was indeed 'humming' when I got home.  

A good day also in that I had a £5 off voucher for the new 'Morrisons' supermarket. The staff, for the most part, are very friendly, you can tell they are new to this game, and I will certainly return next Friday - I have another voucher!  This means that this small town has three large supermarkets represented.  Tesco have three stores, one which has just been redeveloped. Sainsburys have one which is about to be redeveloped and they plan another so big it will replace a small industrial estate! There is already a 'Lidl's' and now the Co-op has closed 'Morrisons' have moved in.  Just how much do the thirty five to forty thousand folks here eat I wonder?  I spent £16:98, and that was after taking advantage of the voucher to stock up, consider how much others must be spending on things they can afford but do not actually need?  Being poor makes me careful with money and I tend to notice prices more.  I also notice how folks buy things with little thought and choosing the label not the product!  An expensive item will be brought rather than try the store version, even though they are just as good nowadays.  Something is bought because it has always been chosen rather than because of any worth it may have.  The tricks of the store also make us all spend on things we don't want and they laugh all the way to the Swiss Bank where the directors store their ill gotten gains. I prefer 'Tesco,' but I will suffer 'Morrisons' for one more week as I use up the last voucher.

.