WE HAVE gradually run out of food in the house. Even the lettuce in the garden – previously prolific – has given up the ghost.
It’s been good in some ways as it’s meant getting all the old packets and tins eaten.
There’s space now in the cupboards. The contents of the freezer no longer fall onto the floor every time the door is opened.
We ended up in this sorry state because of my aversion to dragging the children around the supermarket during the school holidays.
It seems such a waste of outdoors time.
The moaning about “nothing to eat” got so bad the other night that the computer was turned on and an attempt made to do a shop using this modern method.
The task was started at 9pm and not finished until way after midnight. Maybe it was me being useless, but the computer seemed so slow.
Rural users – in spite of paying the same tariffs – do seem to be behind when it comes to the speed of service they are given.
It’s interesting how shopping, in spite of the recession, still seems to be the nation’s favourite pastime. It’s not mine.
The young pony was taken to its first show and we had a smashing day.
Apart from the fact that between them the judges gave us a shopping list as long as your arm if we are to do the filly justice. It was really kind of them to pass on their advice.
But there was a moment back at home when The Daughter was reeling off the list – “brown leather gloves, felt riding hat rather than a skull cap, navy jacket, show saddle …” that it seemed likely her father would have a heart attack.
Even if he had done (and we’d got the insurance money) we wouldn’t have gone out and bought them all at once as children need a goal to work towards.
Talking of shopping, it’s sometimes sad to see how country towns are changing.
Ours has several smashing cafés. There’s the smart one, one for a quick cuppa, one that does pensioners’ deals, somewhere else that’s excellent with children.
However, one of those giant coffee companies – the identikit ones that seem to be on every street corner – has moved in and whenever somebody walks by, smugly holding onto one of the branded cups, there’s the red-headed side of this correspondent that wants to trip them up.
These places kill local businesses. The sandwiches in many of the existing cafés are made from the local baker’s bread. The meat in them is from the town’s butchers. The side-salad from the greengrocers...
Come to think of it, how do you cancel online supermarket orders?