Rabbits!

Rabbits!

It's the 1st of November, when apparently you're supposed to say "Rabbits" for good luck, I generally forget however :)

Today I shall recount my experience attempting to get some shopping a couple of weeks back.

Shopping has become this wonderful thing that can be done many different ways - once upon a time, you needed something from a shop, so you went to the shop, found the object in question, picked it up, took it to the till (aka checkout for our American friends), paid for it, and the job was done.

Now, there are many amazing options!  Would you like to order it online and have it delivered to your house?  Or to a drop off centre near your house?  Or somewhere else entirely?  Or would you like to go to the shop, pick your items, then go home and wait for it to be brought round?  Or would you like to order online, and then go to the shop to collect it?

All these options, and I'm sure some more, are available in this hyperconvenient shopping world.

You may recall that we had a brief caravan holiday the other weekend, well ahead of going away we needed to get some supplies to take with us.  My son wasn't well so I was staying home with him, when I had the bright idea of using one of these many shopping options.

I found that, using my favourite supermarket, I could order all the shopping online and then drive round and pick it up - this seemed like an ideal option, as although my son was up to a quick car drive, I didn't really want him to have to face a walk round a big supermarket.  The ordering went very well, and I arranged to collect it between 12pm and 2pm on the day before we were going away.

I showed up at the appropriate place, QR code in hand (and the order number should there be a problem with the QR code), parked up next to this fancy automated locker system which, upon recognition of the QR code, would release my shopping

I scanned the QR code, and the helpful little machine decided, rather than to release my shopping, to give me an error message.  I tried typing in the order number.

No luck.  The machine have me an error message saying say it was the "Wrong Order" and that I should ring their customer service line.

Ringing the customer service number, I spoke to an operator who explained that all she could do was to rebook the shopping for the following day - which wasn't ideal, as I really wanted some of the stuff that dinner than evening, but like a fool I accepted, and went home to do some studying, lunch break used up on the unsuccessful trip.

Getting back home I noticed on the new confirmation email that the price had increased - I wasn't desperately pleased with this, so I fired off a quick complaint, and the price did come down again.

Later on that evening I checked the emails that I've received from the supermarket, and I was perplexed to see that they made reference to "delivery" rather than a collection, and my favoured QR code was nowhere to be seen.  A veritable mystery!

Looking further into it, I noted that the delivery address for the shopping was the supermarkets address, which made no sense to me.

So in the morning, I rang the store itself, to try to establish whether my shopping would be sat in a locker waiting for me and my QR code (which I hadn't yet received), or whether it would be dropped off at my house by a cheerful delivery driver.  After working my way through somewhere in the region of seventeen automated options ("Hi, and welcome to ShopQuick. Press 8 if you'd like to talk to the HR operative in charge of employee flexible spaniel leave"), I finally spoke to someone, who didn't know what was happening with my shopping, but took my details and said that they'd get someone to ring back right away.

Three hours later, I'd gone out to get some medicine for my son, and decided to swing by the store just to say how things were progressing with my particularly challenging shopping order (which I'd received emails for, confirming that it was being picked in the supermarket, and being prepared for delivery, again to the supermarket).  After a sufficiently long wait, someone came to me and confirmed that yes, the order would be in the lockers between 2pm and 3pm.  We went home, satisfied.

At 2.30pm I showed up, at the locker, order number ready (still no sign of that ubiquitous QR code), typed it in, and....

Got the same "Wrong Order" error message as before.

Going back to the supermarket's customer service desk, the customer service assistant started looking into it for me, and told me "It's down to be delivered"
 "But when I came in this morning," I said, with that particular combination of rage and triumph that I think only an English person can feel, when they absolutely know that they are correct, and have also been sufficiently inconvenienced, "I was told that it would be in the lockers."
 The assistant then said "Ooh, there's a delivery van at the lockers NOW!" and sent me back out to the lockers.  Perhaps I could catch the delivery van in the act, and wrestle my shopping out of their hands.

At the lockers was two delivery guys, manfully trying to handle a series of people who couldn't get their shopping out of the lockers.  Eventually they got to me, and were very certain that I simply hadn't typed in the order number right.  I typed in the order number.  It didn't work.  The delivery guy typed in the order number.  To his consternation, it didn't work, even with his magic touch.

One of the guys happened to have the mobile number of someone inside the store who was involved in home deliveries.  He rang, and spoke to his colleague, explaining the situation.  He turned back to me.
 "If you go to the drop-off point at the front of the store, he'll bring your shopping out to you."

And so finally, after three visits, several phone calls, and at least one barely contained explosion of destructive anger, did my shopping show up.  I loaded it as quickly as I could into my car, worried that the store manager might appear, explain that my shopping couldn't be simply given to me in this way, and that I'd have to go home and wait for it to be delivered.

Most annoyingly I used the supermarket in question because my wife always goes to a different supermarket and I wanted to show her that we could use a different supermarket to get our shopping - as you can imagine I well and truly lost that argument!

There's just a week left on the Robin Hood's Bay roadtrip campaign, so if you're thinking about spending £1 (yes, just £1) to sponsor us, head over there now!

Cheers!

Shopping on Black Friday

Friday morning I was out getting a few bits and pieces - we wanted a new kettle and iron, some household staples (aka milk and yoghurt - although I don't actually have any staples in the house) plus a couple of things for my other half who was helping at a Christmas fair in the afternoon.

Now, Black Friday is a phenomenon popular in the USA, being on the day after Thanksgiving, but as we don't as a rule celebrate Thanksgiving in the UK I didn't really think about it.

Well, I went to Asda (large UK supermarket, owned by Walmart) for some of the things on my list, which is normally open 24 hours a day, and was very excited to see people queueing to get in.  Without any prompting I happily joined the end of the queue - about sixtieth, I worked out - to get in.  I think there is some about British people and queueing, when we're not under any immediate time pressures to be anywhere else, we do like a good queue.  There's any number of great things about a queue:

• It's a social situation where we're allowed to communicate with strangers (about queue-related topics) - whilst we normally steer well clear of any kind of social contact with those folk that we are yet to be formally introduced, the novelty of an unexpected queue can stir us into discussion;
• We can assess just how far back we are in the queue, and try to estimate how long it will take us to get to the front;
• You can squint at the sky (grey) and extract a hand from its protective pocket / glove to see if the sky is releasing rain - if so, you are free to frown, and;
• You can telephone friends and family members to complain about the queue (as the fellow behind me in the queue seemed to manage to do for about 15 minutes straight, over 3 or 4 separate telephone conversations)

You also get to tweet and Facebook about the queue in question:

I feel rather guilty about this because I didn't actually have a value breakfast, I was just making a joke, but I didn't want to disappoint Beth - sorry Beth. This was possibly the first time I pretended that I did have a fried breakfast rather than pretending that I haven't. 

We even had two Police Community Support Officers turn up to backup the security guard on duty, who appeared to be held up by an older gentleman who was certainly talking to him for the full twenty minutes that I was queueing, and quite possibly longer.

In the end I didn't actually buy anything from the Black Friday offers, but I still got to queue up and it was fun (but don't tell anyone I admitted to that!)

Did you go shopping on Black Friday?  Let me know in the comments.

The Weekly Routine

Once a week I take my gran shopping, and being a creature of routine the day goes thusly:

 I will arrive at my grans, aiming to be there for 9.30am but inevitably being 5-10 minutes late.  I got away with being late for a while because she'd managed to get all of her clocks and watches set 10 minutes slow, but since the "It's not eleven o'clock yet!" incident during the 11am Remembrance Sunday silence, they've all been put right.

 We'll have a brief chat, I'll check her mail, put her rubbish and recycling in the appropriate bins, and get her coat.

 When ready we'll go to the car.  An issue often arises at this point, as my gran uses a mobility scooter.  The issue is that when I'm moving the scooter into position (for example outside her front door), I'll have it on full speed, but my gran uses it on its lowest setting.  What does happen from time to time is that I forget to turn the speed down after maneuvering it, leading to my gran speeding, out of control, off into the sunset.

 We'll get in the car.  My gran may attempt to put on her seatbelt, but more commonly will pull it across for me to do.  I now understand what Peter Kay means about his grandmother just holding the belt across her lap rather than plugging it in.

The routine involves going to Lidl, Waitrose, and Poundstretcher.  In that order.  Every week.

 As we're driving to Lidl, my gran will dig through her purse for any 1p, 2p, or 5p coins she may have, which are deposited in my drinks holder as a tip.  This is very nice of her, but does make it awkward when you're trying to put a drink in there and it's balanced on a pile of copper.

 We get to Lidl.  We will park in one of the west facing spaces, looking into the windowed side of the shop, ideally with an empty space next to us to make it easier to get the scooter around.

 We go around Lidl.  This takes about half an hour, and despite my gran having a list, the list is generally only paid a minimal amount of attention as we go around the shop, following a well-rehearsed script honed over the years.

 "How many cheese twists did you want?" I'll ask her (the answer will most likely be 3.  If there are no cheese twists, she'll have cinnamon swirls.)

 "Do you want any mini-Kit Kats?" she'll ask me. The answer will be no, because they come in bags of 20, she already has about 30 mini-Kit Kats at home, and I worry that if I say yes she'll buy another 20 and have something of a mini-Kit Kat mountain that, if my son spots them, will result in a small child meltdown when I have to explain to him that he can't actually eat 50 Kit Kats for lunch.

 Biscuits are next - she will buy jaffa cakes, half of which I suspect she passes on to my mother, possibly rich teas and ginger nuts, and most likely some Penguins.  Penguins are not referred to as Penguins, but as a variety of different names, just to make life interesting.

 Then we get into the fruit and veg area.  She may buy baby plum tomatoes from here, but doesn't do so very often. Satsumas are felt to see if they are sufficiently ripe - they should have a loose peel, but aren't too dry - if they pass the test she'll buy them, otherwise the purchase of these is saved for Waitrose.

 Apple pies will be purchased, possibly with some jaffa cake bars alongside.  My gran will offer to buy me mushrooms (which I'll accept) and grapes (which I'll usually decline).

 I should note this week we got cherry bakewells instead of apple pies, because they'd sold out of apple pies.  Don't think that we aren't flexible, not for a minute, no sir.

 We will buy three sandwiches, a BLT, a Chicken Salad, and a Cheese Ploughmans.  We may buy four mini pork pies.

 We will head down the next aisle, my gran reminding me to "look at both sides".  We may buy bananas (a small bunch) and two packs of apple juice cartons.

 The third aisle is one that we may get away without buying anything, although options down here are Quavers (if Morrisons don't sell them cheaper) and tonic water.  Sometimes at the end of the third aisle / start of the fourth Lidl will have unusual food items for sale, i.e. they'll declare "It's US week!" and have US beer and hot dogs and squeezy mustard sauce for sale.  Whatever week it is, I'll pick a beer up.  And fortune cookies if it's Chinese week.

 Down the fourth aisle it's ibuprofen, possibly cat litter, and occasionally washing liquid if she wants me to do some washing.

 And on the last aisle we'll purchase milk, and look at the refrigerated special offer items, which always includes big chunks of cheese.  I suspect this is mainly for my benefit because I can't remember the last time my gran bought anything from here, but because I won't be getting home for 5 or 6 hours, I've never bought anything from here either.

 We'll then circle around, and head for the tills.  By the time we get to the tills I should worked out an estimate of how much the shopping will cost.  The leeway for error on this estimate is around 7%.  If I exceed this limit (by the final value being too cheap or too expensive) I will earn a well-deserved "You said it would be £XXX!" from my gran.

 When it gets to being our turn to load goods onto the till belt, I'll put my grans items first, and then mine, with my grans sorted roughly in the order that I want to put them into the bags.  Carrier bags will be removed from my grans bag and opened up, ready to accept the scanned goods.

 Now, it's our turn to get our stuff scanned and pay for it.

 I remember back when I was little, and going to Sainsburys with my parents.  At that time scanning food seemed to take so long that it would have been quicker to type the prices in by hand.

 Then Aldi opened opposite Sainsburys.

 At Aldi the shopping was scanned in a flash, a bolt of lightning wouldn't move as fast as the till operators hands did over that scanner.

 Now Lidl isn't quite as fast as that, but they don't hang about, and one of the staff in particular is fast as anything.  If we get her, I'm most likely going to have to resort to dumping the shopping in the trolley and bagging it after paying - but that doesn't mean I won't try to keep up!  So I do my best to scoop the scanned goods into my ready and prepared bags for life, with the aim of being able to go straight to the car and unload the bags without any packing beforehand.

 At any rate, we finish at Lidl, and drive to Waitrose (to be precise, parking in the disabled bay immediately to the right of the entrance to Poundstretcher if at all possible).  We'll go to Waitrose to the cafe and get my gran seated on the very edge of a chair - I'm convinced that she's going to fall off one day, I do try to get her to sit fully on a chair but she seems to prefer sitting on the edge - and purchase some combination of paninis, bacon/sausage sandwiches, cheese toastie (okay it's Waitrose so it's called Croque Monsieur, but that doesn't change the fact that it's cooked bread with cheese in), or if they are lacking in a number of the aforementioned items, a toasted teacake.

 Because we have a MyWaitrose card, we get two drinks (a small coffee and some kind of tea - either herbal or regular depending on how I'm feeling) but only have to pay for one.  I have registered for my own MyWaitrose card because I imagine it's going to help me feel middle class. And, more importantly, it'll get me a free drink in the cafe.  My gran always comments that most of the people in the cafe aren't eating anything - I imagine it's probably because they're all enjoying a free drink.  But my card hasn't arrived yet and so we currently pay for one drink.

 When I return from buying food I must have a receipt with me so that my gran can see what we're having for lunch.  The receipt is essential. It does not matter if we have the food and I can explain what each item is - we need the receipt!  My gran will check that we still need to keep the MyWaitrose card, I have a feeling that it doesn't have a suitable place to live in her purse and she'd prefer to get rid of it if possible.

 In the cafe we'll eat and drink, read whatever newspaper or magazine is available - my gran prefers the Mail or the Express, I prefer the Guardian or the Independent (or Sunday equivalents ie Observer).

 We'll finish the day off by going to Poundstretcher for three books with nice stories and large print, one box of Whiskas cat food, some Walnut Whips, and possibly a bag of sweets for me - I'll try to resist the latter, but some times my will weakens.  My gran will run over one of the feet of the revolving stand holding the books for children with her mobility scooter.

And in a nutshell, there is my weekly routine!

The 5 groups of people you don't want to meet in a supermarket (or why I hate shopping)

I don't mean to hate shopping.  Actually, I like shopping.  It's shopping with other people in the store that I don't like.

But there are particular groups of people that you don't want to meet when shopping.  And so with no further ado, I give you... The 5 groups of people you don't want to meet in a supermarket!

5 - The stressed parent

We've all experienced them.  I've probably been one.  Nevertheless, we all want to avoid the stressed parent.

That's the one shouting at their kids, one of which is crying, whilst the other one discovers how many unbought Smarties they can fit up a nostril at the same time.  The stressed parent will accelerate around the supermarket, getting increasingly cross at the children, and you just know that if you happen to get in the way of them as they charge towards the freezers holding pizza, chips, and chicken dippers (the ones I tend to be around) you'll get, at best, a verbal lashing as they turn their anger on you, or a slam in the posterior by a speeding trolley.

4 - The slow shopper

At least the stressed parent will be out of your way pretty soon - just keep behind them, and they'll speed off into the distance pretty quickly.

No so with the slow shopper.

These folks obviously have all the time in the world to peruse the shop, and think nothing of spending upwards of fifteen minutes deciding on which brand of celery to buy. I imagine that their thoughts go something like this:

1. Ooh, celery, do we need celery?
2. Well I didn't see any celery when I looked in the fridge.
3. Maybe I missed it.
4. No, I would have seen it.
5. Do I need to buy celery?
6. Do I like celery?
7. Well, yes, I do.
8. Okay then, lets buy some.
9. I wonder which type to buy.  Ooh, there are so many.
10. Should I buy the organic?
11. Or the normal brand?
12. The value brand is very cheap, that looks good.
13. But hold on - what sort of life did the celery experience before it was removed from the field?
14. Maybe I should get the organic - but it's been flown in, while the general brand is local.
15. But the expiry date on the general brand is worse... 

And the slow shoppers thought process carries on like this, disconnected from the body, which stands motionless alongside the very next shelf that you need to visit.

You will stand directly behind them, patiently waiting for them to move on, whilst internally building up a level of rage that usually is only seen in Jean Van Damme films, until eventually they pick up the stick of celery they want.

"Good! At last!" You think to yourself.

But they haven't moved. They haven't left the patch.

Oh no, they're inspecting it for insects.

"Leave!" you mentally fire at them. If you knew how to transmit messages psychically, these people would have fallen over by the strength of your mind assault.

Several seconds pass, and then they move.

About six inches forward.

Now you start swearing at them in your mind.  Your hands clench around the handle of the trolley, ready to lift it into the air, and smash them in the side of the head with it. Any jury in the land would let you off, you know they would.  You imagine being in court, in the defendants box.  Twelve men, good and true, stand to one side.  A judge glares at you, into your very soul.  There is no lawyer there to defend you, you're on your own.
 "Mr Raven, I understand that you are alleged to have caused grievous bodily harm with a trolley."
 "Yes, your honour.  But they had stood for four minutes next to the Uncle Bens basmati instant rice."
 "Four minutes?!? My word. Not guilty! Case dismissed!"

And then the slow shopper finally moves on. You feel a weight lift from your soul, and you pick your celery in a space of about three seconds.

You look around for the next thing you want to buy - ah there it is.  It's on that display over there.

The display where the slow shopper has moved to.

3 - The Telephonist

Now to be honest we've all probably been this person, but it still annoys us when someone else does this.

They use their mobile telephone in the supermarket.

There's a reason that they banned the use of mobile telephones when driving - it's because you can't pay attention on two things at once. The reason is still valid when driving a trolley.

If it was a quick call to check whether your partner wanted Brand A or Brand B domestic lager that would be understandable, but when people recite loudly half of what seems to be the most dire soap opera to the supermarket, whilst knocking over displays and small children with their metal goods vehicle, it can be a little frustrating.

But then there's a twist to this group, the next one.

2 - Telephonist with Child

Next we have a combination of two previous groups - the telephone operator, but this one has a child in tow.

They will be absentmindedly picking packets of Cheesestrings and dropping them carelessly in the trolley (Seriously?!? Surely you must have considered the danger of the packet being pierced by something as a result of the fall and the expiry date becoming inaccurate!!) whilst chatting away to a friend, the child happily exploring the supermarket without restriction.

 "Oh yes Tracey! You wouldn't believe what he said. He said that he was going out!"

A pause, presumably while her friend replies.  The child is now covered in a variety of foods that they have managed to smear all over themselves, the floor, displays, and the coats of strangers.

 "I know! Well I said to him that if he was going out then I was going out- CHARMAINE GET YOUR FINGERS OUT OF THE MULLER RICE THIS INSTANT!"

But finally, we have the most scary, the most undesirable group of person. Rarely seen, but always dreaded.

1 - The stranger that speaks to you. That isn't a till operator.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGHH!!!

So many social conventions broken. And not in a good way - like the poor deluded fool in a men's toilet that attempted to kick off a conversation with five other men whilst all of them were using the urinals, by saying "So, how's everyone doing?". That one, after about three seconds of silence, resulted in every man in the vicinity bursting with laughter at the chap that attempted to break the vow of peeing-silence.

No, this one is just creepy. I don't want to know that my choice of washing powder isn't ideal. I don't want to know that you're going on holiday to Tahiti this summer. And I don't want to know that if I stick my credit card into an orange, the acid will eat away the personal data on the card within a decade.

I just want to do my shopping.

And go home.

And watch TV and maybe, if I really feel up to it, eat a bag of crisps.

I like crisps.

HONOURABLE MENTION: CHRISTMAS SHOPPERS.

At Christmas you get all of the above and more groups, such as:

• The last-minute shopper (rushing around in a panic buying anything they think might work as a present - boxes of broken biscuits, value shaving cream, cat litter, that sort of thing)
• The big Christmas shopper (buying everything for their whole Christmas in a single shop, driving two trolleys around the store, blocking whole aisles as they pause to choose their cranberry sauce)
• And everyone else, those people who normally shop in a socially acceptable manner, but due to the stress of Christmas, the store being crammed full of people, and rapidly emptying of the absolute essentials of Christmas, driving usually sane people to scream "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY DON'T HAVE ANY BRUSSEL SPROUTS? NO, I DON'T WANT BUTTON SPROUTS INSTEAD! AND I DON'T WANT SPROUTS WITH CHESTNUTS, I HAVE A NUT ALLERGY!!!"

Yay for shopping!

April fools and CS Source fun

Firstly, my blog blasted through 5000 views.  Thanks to everyone who's taken their time to come and check it out.  Do by all means subscribe (if you want to and have an RSS feeder) and indeed if you just can't get enough (unlikely I know) there is my YouTube channel as well, which has reached the heights of four subscribers (hi Krause House of Cards and Games) - you could be number five!  Exciting eh.

Quick as an aside - here in the UK 80s/90s hit PJ & Duncan has rocketed back to the top of the charts with their song "Let's Get Ready to Rhumble" (I did have their album so no PJ & Duncan haters please) - but check out the picture below.

It's not that clear on the small image above (but click on it and you should get a full-size one) but I like how the number one picture is really pixelated, probably because they've had to find a picture of the single on the Internet.  It's all good.

I'm not doing an April Fools today (although I did try to convince my other half that World of Warcraft patch 5.3 included a PvP Boxing arena and that it would be called Fists of Pandaria), all I'll say is that I knew straight away that Google Nose was fake.  Obviously Google can't transmit some kind of smell to you without you having some kind of smell-generating hardware.

Mmm... the smell of an empty beer bottle

I totally didn't smell my screen just in case.

So anyway...

The other day, we went shopping.  And we bought a lot of things.

But it was Good Friday and the shops were packed with people, which has the effect of stressing me out, so I tend to rush around the shop, get everything I can as quickly as possible so I can then get out of there.

As a result, when I packed the shopping, I hadn't brought my A-Game with me.

The bread didn't do too well.

And then I got told off for buying the wrong sort of bread anyway.

Me and my best mate (Dustyweaver) played some CS: Source the other night.  Had a great time on an empty server where bots were activated so that there was a minimum of 2 people on each side, so we were basically versus each other with a bot sidekick.

The first map we played was a bomb map, and while Dusty had the trusty Jeff at his side, I had Tyler.

Tyler was the Chuck Norris of bots.  Generally ignoring me, he would basically venture out, tooled up, and waste both Dusty and Jeff without any help from me.  In ten rounds he died once.  That clues you into just how tough Tyler was.

Yeah. Tyler became Dusty's nemesis.  And stayed his nemesis.  I'm in the green outfit on the right, feeling a little uncomfortable at being the sidekick of a computer-controlled terrorist.

Dusty's ally Jeff, on the other hand, wasn't really the sharpest bot on the Internet.  He used the tactic of running around with a shotgun, firing at us at long range with that well-known sniper ability of a shotgun, and pretty much missed everything.  That is, except when he got close up.

Then he changed to a pistol.  Because a shotgun wouldn't work would it?

Even with a pistol, Jeff the Bot occasionally got lucky.  But not very often.

The best moment I remember was when both me and Dusty were dead, the bomb was planted at a bomb site and Tyler was defending.  Me and Dusty watched Jeff jog up, pistol in hand, stand next to Tyler, pistol basically in Tyler's ear, and then decide to go and defuse the bomb.  Tyler, unsurprisingly alerted to Jeff's presence by feeling a pistol rub against his head, turned round and blew Jeff away.

Here's a few screenshots from later maps.

Me having killed Dusty and his bot mate John.  His bot friend, when faced with me, turned around and ran at Dusty, blocking his view.  So I could slaughter them both in a row.  Thanks John the Bot!

When I had Jeff the Bot on a later level, he was ace.  He carried a rifle and everything.

Cory the Bot I suspect was the reincarnation of Tyler.

In the end me and Dusty ended up on the same time, facing two bots.  We didn't do very well.

Me and Dusty are thinking about doing some shows on YouTube where we talk about games, we'll do it as a live stream.  Nothing planned at this point but I'll keep you informed.  Any suggestions feel free to get in touch.

THE TROLLEY WAS FULL!

Celebrate all, for below is the latest (festive no less) guest post from my dad. Enjoy!

---

Steel yourselves readers for a fearsome tale of dire trepidation, foreboding and unease.

Be afraid, be very afraid, for this could be YOU!

O.M.G!

Key: O. – ‘Oh’ an expression of surprise!

         M. – me, this is a personal statement or expression which I am making.

         G. – either ‘God’ or ‘goodness’ as you choose.

         In this case it was “GOOD GOD - HOW MUCH?”

Tis the season to eat Holly apparently.. or some such thing. Halls are gaily decked, the milk of human kindness flows unceasingly and all work with frantic diligence to make the ‘winter Solstice celebration’ a success. (or whatever you wish to call it)

One small part of this fabulous time of year is the relatively unglamorous yet essential food shopping so necessary for family, fiends and other associated consumers. After all, the shops may be closed for two whole days! And what if a long lost family member just happens to drop in on you whilst passing and expect to be fed and watered?

A safe guide is approx 18kg of turkey per person, a dozen mince pies, a gallon of exotic beer, whiskey, rum, brandy, vodka and a case of white wine or fruit based drinks for ladies. (you have of course sent cards to everyone on the planet? .. of course you have)

So it was that we set out to ride the storm tossed seas of the supermarket for our yuletide fare. 16 litres of milk was deemed adequate – I will have beer to drink so that will help to save on tea drinking (I like to do my bit to ease the stress of the Yuletide holidays).

Six loaves of bread, fish, cooked meat, uncooked meat, potted meat, meaty meat, vegetables, cuddly toy etc ..  dog biscuits, mummies biscuits, daddies biscuits, chocolates, three bags of flour just in case we have to make our own bread, two kg of mixed exotic ‘seed’ to mix with bread dough to make it erm exotic and healthy, washing powder, pork pies, a small roast, a big roast, a roast roast, a roast which was chicken, a roast which was pork, a roast that was turkey …. a roast which wasn’t any of the previous … erm did I mention sweets?

Of course, that wasn’t all by a long way. Gradually the shopping trolley filled and filled to over flowing .. my mind drifted to an imaginary checkout where the bill grew and grew and grew. Electronic numbers clicked and flashed and with dream-like ease, effortlessly multiplying … £5. ..£20 ….£ 157.34 … £1976.51 …… £1,000,000 … number too big .. possibly infinity!

A whole imaginary nation was slowly tipping sideways and sliding into a violent storming sea …. The long drowned dead cried out “The bill is IMPOSSIBLE!”

I shook myself. Shivers of icy fear ran down my back as we waded our weary way through crowds of shoppers, some frantic to buy everything that could be bought, some dazed and incapable of choosing which brand of tea to buy. The checkouts were full. Queues of people stretched down the aisles awaiting service and supermarket assistants wandered back and forth checking to see if anyone needed water or a toffee to keep them going.

Eventually … it seemed without ever moving really …. We found ourselves at the checkout. A humanoid ‘smiled’ at us without looking – she was smiling, possibly grimacing, and clearly as stressed as we were. Items were hurled through the scanner and prices danced before my eyes .. £5 … £20 ….. I daren’t look!

The trolley was refilled and a simple, small piece of plastic flashed briefly, electronic numbers vanished and we were dismissed with thankyouhaveanicedaymerrychristashellohowareyoutoday?

The next customer was being instantly processed. I staggered out of the shop weighed down with purchases.

Thank goodness we decided not to splash out this year and to budget our food buying J

Anyone got ideas for my evil twin...

I'm gearing up to do some (hopefully) regular videos of me and my evil twin Joel (if you don't know what I'm talking about, check the test video out here), I've now received a free tripod thanks to my best mates father (bizarrely I was sat in the passenger seat of my fiancees car, thinking "I could really do with a tripod for my videos", and then my mate rings me and goes "I've got you a tripod!") and I've been and purchased a newer, bigger and faster SD Card for use.  I never knew before having a video camera that SD Cards came in different speeds, but apparently so.  I now have a 8Gb SD Card which is surplus to requirements so if anyone wants to buy it for a few quid let me know - it did work fine recording videos to be fair, and it'd be fine for photos of course.

Of course now I'm suffering with writers block and can't come up with anyone funny to record - well perhaps one thing, but I need a pie for that (you'll see)

Apart from that it's been a nice and quiet weekend, broken up by visiting St Stephens shopping centre in Hull on Saturday afternoon, which is not for the faint of heart!  I usually try to avoid shopping when it's busy but I needed to get started on the Christmas shopping - less than seven weeks to go - so I braved the crowds. There's a new shop called Menkind in St Stephens which is full of fun gadgetry and the like, one of the shop staff was chasing passersby with a remote controlled inflatable R2D2 which was very funny.

No Downton Abbey tonight!  I've got used to staying up slightly later than normal on a Sunday evening to see the latest goings on.  It's probably fair to say that the third season wasn't quite a good as the first two, but still well worth watching.  Roll on Christmas special!

Time to go into hibernation

I am writing this on a damp yet reasonably warm Saturday afternoon in Northern England. At this time every year something wheedles its way into our life, and remains there until the new year.

I've noted that huge areas of shops have been emptied, and filled again, with a mass of red-coloured packaging holding any number of delicious snacky things, gifts, cards, and wrapping paper.

Christmas is upon us. This is Stage One – the population of the stores with Christmas-related merchandise. This hearkens back to my childhood, where I would go shopping with my parents, and see toys that I would desperately want (as any child does). My calls for toys and presents would be replied with a phrase I learnt to dread.

“Yes, we can get you that and save it for Christmas”

I don’t want to save it for Christmas, I want it now!

The worst thing about having a birthday in July is that for about six months of the year there is either my birthday or Christmas to save presents for.  I've never been particularly good at waiting.

Soon, the Stage Two will come into force. This is the music. Christmas Number Ones from the past fifty years will be played. And played again. And played again. And you will hear them again and again and again, until you beg storekeepers to put something more entertaining on, like the noise of someone tripping and falling into a field of cabbage.

Stage Three follows, coupled with Stage Two. People start buying EVERYTHING in the shops – not just presents, everything. They realise that Sainsburys and the like are going to be closed for a whole day (some might even dare to close for two!) and people who usually shop perhaps once a week suddenly feel the need to stock up every two hours.

Then the day comes, a great time is had by all (hopefully), and Stage Four follows. Post-Christmas.

I don’t know what the shops do on Christmas Day, but it’s obvious that they are beavering away while the rest of us eat turkey, open presents and fall asleep with a can of Stella Artois. Because as soon as Boxing Day arrives, not only are the sales started, but all those shelves in the supermarkets are emptied of Christmas merchandise so that the Easter Eggs can be brought out.

Why do we need to celebrate Christmas so early on? Why can’t we celebrate it in December, and maybe even wait until March before we start going onto Easter? But we live in a culture that has extra-early summer sales in February, and cards for every occasion from your football team losing to your goldfish exploding.

It is obvious I cannot change this. And I don't have enough annual leave to take the next ten weeks off. So I will, as every year, face the music (literally), wish people a merry Christmas, buy absurd presents that no one will want, and go slowly mad at the two dithering shoppers stood blocking the aisle I wish to go down.

Merry Christmas!

I Hate Nappies

I hate nappies.

On Monday, my other half went out for a couple of hours around dinner time, so I was looking after our 2 year old.  He's ace.

I was washing up in the kitchen and he came, took me into the living room and sat me down so he could snuggle up with me for a bit, which is cool.

Then I noticed that his nappy was bulging - time for a change, I thought. Not a problem.

Now, I knew that we were running low on nappies.

There wasn't any in the changing box.

Hmm.

Or upstairs in his bedroom.

Not even under his bed.

Okay, I thought, we can use one from out of his going out backpack, and I'll ask my other half to fetch some on her way in.

The going out backpack was empty as well.

Right, I decided, action needs to be taken.  He's going to need changing soon.

So, I decided that we would pop out and get some.  We headed down to Lidl on Cottingham Road - before anyone gets up in my grill about going to Lidl, they're very good value and their nappies have won some awards and personally I've found them to be better than Pampers and Huggies ones.

Parked up.

Got my son out of the car.

Got my son into a trolley.

Went to Lidl.

Realised that Monday was a bank holiday and that Lidl had shut early.

Returned the trolley and put my son  back in the car.

We then went to Tesco on Newland Avenue.  Went in there, but they had nappies sizes 2, 3 and 5, and we've been getting my son  size 6, so no luck there.

I got us back in the car and drove further down Newland Ave to the Sainsburys.  Unfortunately a ne'er-do-well was lurking around the entrance, and being a tough burly lad I decided to drive on.

We made it to Sainsburys on Princes Avenue.  As it is a bank holiday, people had been drinking all day, there was shouting going on, broken glass on the ground - not overly pleasant, but by this time I just wanted to get some nappies no matter what and this time I took the bull by the horns and left the safety of the car.

Went into Sainsburys - sizes 2, 3, and 5. No 6.

I decided to take a risk and buy a pack of size 5 nappies and hope that they would do for the time being.  Bundled my son back into the car, and headed for home.

Got home at last - this took me about three quarters of an hour, while I was supposed to be tidying the kitchen and generally sorting things out.

Opened the door.

On the table in the hallway was an unused nappy.

Ah well.

When my other half got in later, I told her the story.

She pointed out the new set of plastic drawers where unused nappies are now kept.

She also brought me a cookie.

I hate nappies.

But I like cookies.