Because we’re diddling around, as a country, with lockdowns and no lockdowns and local variants thereof, one of the thing that is being impacted is supermarket shopping, again.
People are flocking to the internet to book delivery slots and get themselves some groceries secured over the next fortnight as we find out what’s happening or not happening, as the case may be, tomorrow.
I have got into the habit, just for my convenience really, of booking our Saturday morning slot for the following week when I’m waiting for our delivery to come.
I forgot this week. And so I nipped online yesterday to snaffle the slot and put in a holding order of the usuals while we finalise our shopping list. Sainsbury’s website was running like stink – it was slow, kept crashing and dropping the log in details with gay abandon. It did not fill me with confidence – it did, however, fill my trolley with milk.
But anyway, because of that I decided that I would do mum’s online shop at some stupid hour of the night when less people should be about on the internet farting about.
Mum herself put a halt to that. She’d had some difficulties texting me her shopping list on her proto-Nokia whatever it is phone that she uses. She did it in drafts, then lost it, then only found half of it and so had to send two versions of her shop.
They didn’t match, for some reason. There was stuff on the original text that wasn’t on the second, and stuff on the second not on the first.
The thing with mum is, you have to do things carefully when it comes to stuff like this otherwise she gets arsey and declares she can’t do anything, why should she bother and various other things of that nature.
So I’m not doing her shop now. I daren’t. It’s too risky. It’s not worth the sulking if it all turns out to be massively wrong.
I’ll ring her tomorrow and ask about it. And end up on the phone for about an hour while she doesn’t talk about what I’ve actually rung her for…
The suffering of lockdown is real…