journal of a writing man

On being trolley-barged

When she said “sorry” my immediate
reaction was to punch out her lights.

The look on her face, of terminal weariness
turned me to forgiveness of a minor shopping incident.

I probably benefitted from that.
I hope that she did, too.

–John Bailey, Somerset, December 2007

Sunday December 23, 2007

Yesterday we did the big provisions shop. You know, the ham, the booze, a bit of this, a bit of that. A large trolley-full.

In a way it was the culmination of a year of careful preparation, for the final bill at the check-out came to £144 and some odd pennies.  First I proffered the coupon from the coin counting machine–£87-ish. Next I handed over my ‘loyalty’ card and told the girl to extract the full balance–£56-ish.

“What’s it come to now, luv?” I asked.

“One pound 48,” she said.

Now that’s what I call a reasonable charge for Christmas groceries shopping.

Home, the door shut, and that’s it until Monday morning when we’ll do a fresh fruit and vegetables dash before the great lock-down.

For our evening TV session we elected to watch the power remake of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  Absolute, unadulterated tedium. Sometimes remakes work, sometimes they don’t. This one didn’t.  We’d have done better to stick to our evening routine of one episode each of Farscape and Buffy.

I refuse to allow my spirits to be dampened by anything this year. Even the great mega-speakers of the Rotary Club charity carols truck outside the supermarket couldn’t dampen my spirits and I sang along merrily as we made our way across the car park, swinging my stick in a wild Chaplin-esque circle.

“What on earth are you up to?” Graham asked.

“I’m doing Christmas.”

“Well, don’t overdo it. People are watching.”

“Let ‘em. I don’t care. I’m doing Christmas.”