We were up at stupid o’clock this morning finishing off the Christmas shop, where – of course – we buy loads of food, needlessly, because shops are open again on Boxing Day. Blah blah blah.
We were in and done within half an hour or so, and it was glorious. Apart from the bit where I picked up a cabbage and all the other cabbages rolled across the floor. But everything else was fine. Clean, clinical and brilliantly executed.
A little later on I was in town for work and nipped – nipped – into Sainsbury’s for a sandwich. Get sandwich, go to cigarette kiosk to pay, leave.
In that time, I had to dodge round three people spread out across an aisle talking about when someone related to one of the parties would be released from jail. At one point, one of them went, “Oh, we’re in the way a bit here aren’t we?” Yes. Yes you fricking are, you bellends.
There were also frantic shouts of “next!” from the self-checkouts as people just stood there gormlessly, not moving to a machine as someone left.
And, of course, the elderly. Just doing their shopping for the day – or two days and then they’ll be able to get back to the shop – because that appears to be what you do when you reach a certain age. You were fleeces with wolves on them and only buy enough food for the day you’re on because what if you died and you’d bought extra food. It’s just a waste of money.
There was also a child called Keaton.
Keaton. Or maybe Keyton.
Either way, that’s not even a first name.
Judging from the amount of times his name was called, he’s a shit. And quite possibly on the naughty list – but equally probably still getting sixteen iPads for Christmas.
I’m just looking forward to town getting back to normal. You don’t realise the impact people who don’t normally come into town coming into town will make until you’re dodging families of criminals and trying not to have a run in with a Keaton.
Honestly, roll on the 6th of January.