It’s Thursday, the day when my thoughts start turning to what is going to be on next week’s menu chez wizzud. It’s not that I’m particularly well organized – it’s more that if I don’t know what we’re going to eat I don’t know what shopping I need to do, and when it comes to the weekly trip to the Supermarket I need to get the necessary items into my trolley, pay and get the hell out of there in the shortest time possible. If I was better organized I wouldn’t be Supermarket shopping on a Saturday, and I particularly wouldn’t arrive at the store at the same time as this week’s batch of holidaymakers. Time and time again I remind myself that I don’t want to be shopping at the same time as families who are stocking up for a week of self-catering, whose kids are already fractious from a long day spent in the car asking whether they’re here yet, but time and again I arrive at the Supermarket at 4 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. In our previous life I used to complain about the shoppers who went round the entire Supermarket with a mobile phone stuck to their ear, discussing each potential purchase with somebody on the other end, but at least they didn’t take up as much room! Perhaps I have some subconscious need to put myself into uncomfortable situations so as to appreciate what a peaceful existence we lead most of the time, but more likely it’s just that if we shop that late in the day I don’t need to feel any guilt about pouring us a restorative drink once we’ve put it all away!
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