Dec 7, 2019: Town

When it gets to the run up to Christmas, you’re encouraged to ditch the big internet brands and retailers and to take your spending to the high street of the town in which you live. Support your high street. Support small businesses.

What they don’t tell you is that your local high street or town is full of arseholes.

I mean, the internet is chock full of them too, but they don’t get in your way when you’re shopping.

I had a gap between games today, so I nipped out. Not for anything overtly Christmas related. Just a three-way plug adapter (like all the cool kids want) as the one from the kitchen has been pilfered to provide the lights for Christmas.

I strolled to Wilko’s. I dodged the Brexit party and countless bimblers and aimless wanderers. I went in. I grabbed a couple of plugs and an extension lead. Bish bash bosh. In the time it took me to do that a woman and her friend came along and began to complain about the lack of metre long extension leads.

A metre. Honestly. Just move your stuff a little bit closer to the plug. Or by a two metre one and enjoy a bit of loose wire.

I left there. I went to Sainsbury’s. Arseholes galore in there. All seemingly staring at selection boxes like it’s the hardest decision in the world to make. I went in, grabbed a calendar and left. Bish bash bosh.

I can’t get my head round people who shop with NO IDEA AT ALL about what they’re even looking for. And who litter aisles with themselves, bags and trollies to such an extent that you could get your 10,000 steps in just from all the doubling back you have to do to make it to the checkouts. Negotiating a supermarket in the run up to Christmas is like doing a really shit maze where there’s no exit and everything’s a dead end. Usually with a pensioner at the end of it.

And that’s before you factor in that I went into town on a match day, thus increasing the arsehole quotient dramatically.

I think I was outside for all of fifteen minutes. That was enough. Then I was back inside watching films on my Kindle and gently rocking back and forth like a Romanian orphan.

I’ll support my local high street by staying well away from it, I think.