I wonder if this has ever happened to you. You decide that this time, you will not impulse-buy, and will only buy the things you need. A list. That's the best way. So you trawl through cupboards and drawers, and check the fridge and the freezer, and dutifully note down all that you need. Because you know it's going to be a trial, you think to yourself that'll you'll just have a coffee before you go. Another hour passes, while you watch a bit of tv, or surf the net. Eventually, you steel yourself for the ordeal, and get in the car to go shopping. You get to the car park, and here it starts. You do laps. You don't want to park a mile away, at the bottom of the car park where all the charity skips are, so you pootle around, ever vigilant for the movement of a car's rear end. There it is! You brake sharply and wait. The car reverses - and promptly drives back in again, but a bit more to the left to allow the fat driver to get out. The brake lights go off, and the door opens. You've wasted your time, and have to start a new lap.
Assuming that you eventually find a space that doesn't need a bus ride to get to, you then go in search of a trolley. There are hundreds scattered about the car park, but you want one that's been collected and taken back to the front door. You get to the entrance, and 
there are six trolleys left, and two more upside down that must have died. You grab the handle of the first trolley at exactly the same time as the young mum with the screaming brat superglued to her fist. You politely allow her to drag the trolley out, and she goes off into the store. You go to grab the next one, but it doesn't want to go with you. It is quite happy thank you being totally enmeshed to its mates, and is only broken free of its grip on them by a supreme effort and brute force. Chuffed with yourself, you set off. You then realise that one of the rear wheels seems to be possessed. You are travelling in a straight line, but this one wheel insists on twirling round and round and round. Trying to ignore it, you screech and clatter your way into the shop. You reach for your shopping list, only to realise that you've left it on the kitchen worktop. Never mind. You'll remember the list as you go round. You walk through the non-food section, trying to ignore it on your way to the food aisles. But there, on an end display are the magical words, 'Everything Must Go'. You reason that if everything must go, then it must be cheap, and maybe you ought to help it go. You scrabble through the reduced paraphenalia, looking for that thing that you might need, want, or maybe will need or want at some time in the future. Hmm - three rolls of sellotape for a pound. You do have sellotape in the drawer at home...but it might have dried out by now. Besides, it's Christmas in four months, and you'll need it then to wrap all those presents. Ooh - a trowel! And it's half price! Only £4.95. You pick it up to inspect it. Actually, there is a trowel at home somewhere. And when was the last time you used one? Hmm, maybe not. You put it back. But as you put it back, you notice that on the next end display, they not only have DVDs for only £5.99, but if you buy three, you can have them all for only £10! You can't pass up an offer like that, can you? Oh look. 'Saturday Night Fever'. You haven't seen that in years, and remember with fondness going to the cinema and watching it through twice, in the days before they threw you out after each showing. That would do for one. Now what else is there? Watership Down? nah... The Hulk...nah...got it anyway...it was shite. Superman, the original with Christopher Reeve! Nah...that was a bit shite too. And so it goes on. You eventually settle for Travolta, Alexander, because you haven't seen it, and don't believe what the critics said, and Swimfan, simply because you saw the trailer at the cinema and seem to remember some cute guy in speedos in it. It might be a good film anyway, you tell yourself. (It isn't, by the way, but you only realise that after you've sat half way through it and fallen asleep through boredom).
there are six trolleys left, and two more upside down that must have died. You grab the handle of the first trolley at exactly the same time as the young mum with the screaming brat superglued to her fist. You politely allow her to drag the trolley out, and she goes off into the store. You go to grab the next one, but it doesn't want to go with you. It is quite happy thank you being totally enmeshed to its mates, and is only broken free of its grip on them by a supreme effort and brute force. Chuffed with yourself, you set off. You then realise that one of the rear wheels seems to be possessed. You are travelling in a straight line, but this one wheel insists on twirling round and round and round. Trying to ignore it, you screech and clatter your way into the shop. You reach for your shopping list, only to realise that you've left it on the kitchen worktop. Never mind. You'll remember the list as you go round. You walk through the non-food section, trying to ignore it on your way to the food aisles. But there, on an end display are the magical words, 'Everything Must Go'. You reason that if everything must go, then it must be cheap, and maybe you ought to help it go. You scrabble through the reduced paraphenalia, looking for that thing that you might need, want, or maybe will need or want at some time in the future. Hmm - three rolls of sellotape for a pound. You do have sellotape in the drawer at home...but it might have dried out by now. Besides, it's Christmas in four months, and you'll need it then to wrap all those presents. Ooh - a trowel! And it's half price! Only £4.95. You pick it up to inspect it. Actually, there is a trowel at home somewhere. And when was the last time you used one? Hmm, maybe not. You put it back. But as you put it back, you notice that on the next end display, they not only have DVDs for only £5.99, but if you buy three, you can have them all for only £10! You can't pass up an offer like that, can you? Oh look. 'Saturday Night Fever'. You haven't seen that in years, and remember with fondness going to the cinema and watching it through twice, in the days before they threw you out after each showing. That would do for one. Now what else is there? Watership Down? nah... The Hulk...nah...got it anyway...it was shite. Superman, the original with Christopher Reeve! Nah...that was a bit shite too. And so it goes on. You eventually settle for Travolta, Alexander, because you haven't seen it, and don't believe what the critics said, and Swimfan, simply because you saw the trailer at the cinema and seem to remember some cute guy in speedos in it. It might be a good film anyway, you tell yourself. (It isn't, by the way, but you only realise that after you've sat half way through it and fallen asleep through boredom).Enough dilly-dallying. You have shopping to do. Onwards to the fruit and veg aisle. Potatoes, onions, tomatoes, cucumber. Done. We've started. Turn the corner to get coffee and tea. In front of you is a huge woman, the bottom half of 
which is poured into lycra pants, and looks like a shrink-wrapped Michelin man. You try not to look because it is so disgusting, but at the same time you find it fascinating. You've never seen so many bits of one person jiggle and wobble in so many different directions all at the same time. You wonder how anyone could ever get into that state, then you happen to spot her trolley's contents. 200 Red Band cigarettes, 4 packs of lard, bacon pieces, chicken nuggets, a bag of frozen chips that half fills the trolley, ham, spam and jam. You wonder no longer.
which is poured into lycra pants, and looks like a shrink-wrapped Michelin man. You try not to look because it is so disgusting, but at the same time you find it fascinating. You've never seen so many bits of one person jiggle and wobble in so many different directions all at the same time. You wonder how anyone could ever get into that state, then you happen to spot her trolley's contents. 200 Red Band cigarettes, 4 packs of lard, bacon pieces, chicken nuggets, a bag of frozen chips that half fills the trolley, ham, spam and jam. You wonder no longer. You manage to get past her, grabbing the stuff you need, and head for the next aisle. In front of you now are three women, all with trolleys, who have decided that tesco is the best place to meet and discuss everything from their kids' school dinners to the price of loo rolls. They are totally oblivious to the fact that people are trying to shop. You say excuse me. Jabber jabber - nothing. You SHOUT excuse me. They turn to look at you like you've just thrown dog shit at them, and slowly move around in a circle, taking up exactly the same space as they did before, except they are all now facing in a different direction. They resume their chat, because after all, who do you think you are, shouting like that when all you had to do was ask. You sigh and raise your eyebrows, and feel your temperature rising. You decide to try to get through the narrow gap, and push your clattering, possessed trolley forwards. That is when the trolley decides it wants to turn right, so you end up crashing straight into the trolley of the woman nearest to you. She tuts and says 'Really!', and you smile weakly, and try to say, 'It's the trolley - sorry', but know instantly that she doesn't believe you because she has her face on upside-down.
Rounding the next corner, you hear a splat sound as a small child hits the floor spreadeagled, and the ear-piercing scream that follows. Suddenly its mutha appears, screaming almost as loudly as the child, admonishing it for messing about, and promising that if it doesn't shut up, she will give it something to cry for!
More muthas, more screaming kids. "Put that back! You're not having it!", "I won't tell you again!", "Right - no sweets!", "Wait 'til I get you home, young man!" etc., etc.
Some old lady asks you where anchovies are, before realising that you don't work there just because you have a striped shirt on today.
An old codger in a filthy mac brushes past your bare arm, smelling like a cross between gone-off fish and sewage. You reel, and promise yourself a bath as soon as you get home. Your arm now feels like it's radioactive, because you know that that old mac has tainted it, and you try not to keep that arm out of service until it can be fumigated.
Eventually, you decide you have it all, and head for the checkouts. You choose the shortest queue, only to discover that there is some hold up in front of you, and that the till-girl is flailing her arm in the air and flashing her red light, trying to attract the attention of a supervisor 6 tills away, who is busy trying to train a young chav-girl with stretched-back hair and hoop earrings. The girl is nodding but looking nonchalantly in a different direction, chewing gum, and wishing that she was back in boyfriend Darren's souped-up escort ghia, like she was last night...it was wicked.
You watch as all the other queues get served first, and you wonder why you decided to choose this till. You can practically feel the veins in your neck standing out. Then it's your turn. You refuse the offer of "Would you like help with your packing?", because you figure you can do it yourself quicker. If only you could open the damned carrier bags! You blow on them, scrunch them, wet your fingers, pick delicately at the edges, and hopefully they give up and open. Your trolley is reloaded with carrier bags, you pay for your shopping and leave!
At last, you have arrived home, slogged in and out from the car with all the bags, emptied the foodstuffs into their respective cupboards, and put the kettle on again, because it's time for a sandwich. Then you realise. You forgot to buy bread!
And Salad Cream.
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