Category Archives: supermarket
July-December: July came and brought me pneumonia! I didn’t just inherit my Grandma’s cheekbones and youthful looking skin, I got her bloody chronically weak chest too (hidden behind a fantastic pair of bazoomas even if I do say so myself!) but I soldiered on heroically, I then got the letter confirming I was surplus to requirements (it actually said that in writing!)the day before I went away on holiday, talk about a kick in the teeth from the lizard-faced incompetent with the freakish neck.
So off we went to Mexico and I tried to put it to the back of my mind. The beautiful Mexican sun as well as time with my two beloved men warmed my soul and healed my chest. The country and people were as wonderful and beautiful as ever and I tried my hardest to be positive I really did but I could feel it looming, that menacing dragon was gathering her strength and feeding on the pain I was trying desperately to hide.
We came back from Mexico and the depression hit me like a spade in the face. I literally felt like one of those cartoon characters you see with all of the stuffing knocked out of them and it took every ounce of my strength to fight it, but fight it I did – it was either that or end up in a mental ward wearing clashing patterns and letting my hair go grey, soooo not my style dahling!
So, I jumpedon the “searching for a job”train. I was very lucky, I got an interview for the first job I applied for. It was almost exactly what I was already doing and looked to be tailor made for me! Except the person who wrote the job description must have been at the sherry…
I arrived for the interview nervous but quietly confident. Pleasantries were exchanged etc then followed the most excruciating, arse-clenchingly awful 30 minutes of my life. It became very clear, very quickly that the job description had no bearing at all on the actual job and I sat like a rabbit in the headlights trying to answer questions that might as well have been asked in Korean for the sense they made. I should have stopped it there and then. I should have had the balls to say that there had been a mistake but no, the misery continued with me wanting to ram my whole fist into my mouth rather than spout any more of the drivel I was coming out with!! Needless to say, I didn’t get the job – I wouldn’t have taken it if they’d offered it – there’s no way I’d work for an organisation who’d employ the babbling idiot I’d presented myself as!
I managed to get over the crippling shame and embarrassment with the help of my lovely friend DerekBee who set about sending me voice messages of hugely inappropriate answers to interview questions, which we both found hilarious (you had to be there I suppose).
It’s now nearly the end of the year and my humongous chest has let me down again. Pleurisy this time which ended up with a Boxing Day visit to A&E begging an Eastern European doctor for strong drugs! So Christmas was a little subdued to say the least but it’s still been nice – if you like that sort of thing. I’m not a Christmas fan, never have been. In fact when I was single and lived alone I steadfastly ignored it! Now I have my family it’s not really acceptable to do that and I tried making a fist of it when Child was younger and still try my best to be festive and hide my Grinchyness!
Hmmm, that’s about it really, not desperately exciting, definite highs and lows. Thank you very much for reading my blog this year – it’s really nice to be indulged! I’ve loved writing it and if I wasn’t such a lazy cow I would have written more often. I could make it my New Year’s resolution to do so but I’m not big on those either!
So, adios 2013, I’ve had better years but I’ve also had worse; come on then 2014 let’s see what you’re made of…..Now, where did I put that Weightwatchers leaflet?….
My word you’re made of strong stuff! You’ve come back to read more about my scintillating year? Well, I don’t blame you. There’s bugger all on the telly and it’s too bloody windy to go for a walk…
So, where were we?
April-July: things were trundling along nicely, I ate my body weight in chocolate having discovered the joys of Hotel Chocolat on a shopping trip with a friend. I indulged the family with eye-wateringly expensive Easter eggs from said chocolatier – I might as well have gone to the pound shop for all the notice they took – Philistines!
Work was going really well, I don’t think I’d ever loved a job as much. There was a meeting in May where the head stated that the school was in a terrible financial situation and jobs might have to go. I wasn’t unduly worried, I mean I’d only been in the job 6 months,yes, but there was no one else to do the work I did, I was crazy busy all the time and obviously they wouldn’t have taken me on if they knew…yada, yada, yada….I almost convinced myself until the slimy-looking incompetent who’d let the place get into such a situation came into my office with a letter and “heartfelt” apologies. That was at 11am. By 2pm I was in a meeting with the slimy-looking incompetent who was telling me it was a fait accompli. I was being binned on 31 Dec and there was nothing I could do about it. I resisted the urge to karate chop him in his ridiculously protruding Adam’s Apple or to knock his ugly head off his idiotically long neck and behaved with dignity and decorum for once in my life. But inside I was a weeping, wailing mess. I wanted to lay on the floor in the foetal position and have someone stroke my hair. But I smiled and carried on because that’s what you do isn’t it. You get punched in the stomach and for good measure someone grabs your heart and has a kick about with it but you carry on…..don’t you?
As I am confined to my sickbed (sad face) with a bout of pleurisy that has wrecked my Christmas, I thought it would be nice to have a look back at my year….indulge me, I’m bedridden here!
January-March: These months were mostly taken up with my annual traipse to a slimming club. Sxxxxxing Wxxxd was the club of choice this year. I found the format and the leader to be toe-curlingly hideous – sitting in a circle applauding someone for losing half a pound or commiserating (and applauding, strangely) a poor sinner who had succumbed to a roast potato was definitely not for me. I did, however, find solace every week listening to people’s hilarious attempts to make faux fast food -ie: pizza and KFC – using dried potato granules! Yep, Smash is king in the land of the slimmer, and you really haven’t lived until you’ve tried a pizza with a Smash base – and it is every bit as vomit inducing as it sounds!! I did lose a stone though…but the pizza/smash combo had nothing to do with it!
Work was going well, I’d settled into my new job and even though I only started in October I felt a part of the team and absolutely loved it. I was working in a school, my dream job with hours to die for. I couldn’t have asked for anything more on the job front.
Home life rumbled along, as it does…Child continually testing my patience as the testosterone worked it’s magic – seeing the smug grin on my mum’s face as she sees payback in all it’s glory is slightly disconcerting! Although it’s not all bad, sometimes his real persona makes its way through the swamp of puberty and he is a joy to have around, my funny, handsome, kind little man who I love unconditionally despite the testing teenage strops!! He has settled into “big school” now and is doing really well. We are trying to cope with husband being away for 4 weeks and home for 2 but I don’t think we will ever get used to or enjoy it, it’s just something we have to endure and it’s not a natural state of affairs – I defy anyone to enjoy having their parter away for such a stretch or indeed enjoy having them home 24/7 for a fortnight!
We booked our summer holiday in January, 2 weeks in July ( I couldn’t go in term time with my new job) to Riviera Maya, Mexico, of course, we tried to resist the pull but just couldn’t do it! We even decided to go back to the same hotel because we enjoyed it so much last year, I was a little wary of doing this but lost out to the majority – we are a very democratic family! At least the thought of the beautiful beaches and warm Caribbean Sea helped to make winter a little more bearable for SAD old me!
More to follow, I’m ill y’know…..
So, there I was headed for my interview, walking thru Tescos in Beverley in my best interview wear looking every inch the professional go-getter. That was until my foot caught the mat in the entrance and I spectacularly fell full length in the style of a rugby player scoring a try. I scraped both my hands and knees and, oh the shame, my bloody chin. Thankfully I didn’t rip my tights to complete the look. This was 15 mins before my interview! But I managed to fob off about 16 first aiders who were desperate to practice their skills and the store manager who was desperate to avoid litigation and was somehow able to make it on time – albeit battered and bruised and desperately embarrassed. But the angels must have enjoyed the show because -I GOT THE JOB!!
Now I’ve never been a fan of Jamie Oliver. All that cheeky “Cockernee” malarkey never won me over, I always saw him as a posh Home Counties boy playing at being “Street”.
But my dislike is rapidly turning into something stronger now with the nonsense he’s spouting at the moment in order to appear controversial/promote his latest TV programme and book.
The multi-millionaire says he “finds it hard to talk about modern day food poverty”. Well, I find it hard to talk about Quantam Physics – because I know absolutely bugger all about it!! So, rather than make myself look a complete idiot, I keep my trap shut.
Instead of bleating on about how a Sicilian street cleaner can make Ambrosia from a bag of horse shit “etc, why not do something constructive and donate some of your vast fortune to the alarming number of food banks opening up in the UK? Or pledge that you will donate all of the unused food from your restaurants to a homeless shelter?
Ive just checked a supermarket site and I can get the required items of Mr Oliver’s street cleaning friend for £5.30 (mussels, cherry tomatoes, spaghetti) but I’m damned sure that if I were in food poverty I’d want more than 3 ingredients for a fiver, I’d want as much filling, cheap food as I could fit in my basket to feed my family and I wouldn’t give two hoots about it being organic or sustainable as long as my kids didn’t go hungry.
And I don’t know about you but those three ingredients on their own would resemble a bland mush if I attempted to cobble together a meal from them – I’d sooner buy a Pukka Pie!!
Oh, and I do know what I’m talking about here. When I was in my late teens/early twenties I lived in a flat on a very low wage, every single penny I had needed to be stretched as much as possible. I remember taking the stalks off mushroom before I put them to be weighed and I ate so much ox liver I can’t even look at the stuff anymore without feeling murderous!
There are plenty of people far more qualified to speak about this subject such as the inspirational Jack Monroe – author of the frankly amazing website http://agirlcalledjack.com/. She can talk the talk because she has lived it, her website was born out of the desperation of a mother trying to feed her child, not because she had some new tat to promote or because she wanted to get her name in the papers.
I know which one I’d rather listen to – and it’s not that presumptuous Cockernee twat…
Doing my weekly shop at the supermarket is never going to make it into my Top Ten Cool Things To Do on a Sunday list.
Oh no, it’s up there on my God I Really Hate Having To Do This list – along with cleaning my car and breathing the same air as Katie Price.
It’s never pleasant but today’s experience surpassed the usual humdrum drudgery.
I thought I’d liven up my life a little, live in the fast lane y’know, so I opted to go to Morrisons instead of Tescos – wake up reader, it gets better I promise.
I got all my usual gubbins, did my usual trick of picking up six ready meals before suffering Mother’s Guilt and putting them back and buying vegetables instead, laughed at the label declaring
- Buy 2 for £1.50!! Usual Price 70p
As I reached the checkout I had a little frisson of excitement when I realised there was no queue (yes, I know I should get a life, I’m working on it ok?) but my soul plummeted when I saw the mass of seething resentment and apathy sat glaring at me from the till.
“Are you open?” I asked in a friendly voice with a smile.
“Yeh” replied the Checkout Girl of the Year with so much malice you’d have thought I’d insulted her mother or kicked her cat – or vice versa.
I loaded my goods onto the belt while Atilla the Glum sat and filed her nails (yes,really).
Did she start sending my items through and [gasp] pack them whilst I was still loading them on? Did she ask me if I’d like any help? Did she buggery. The lazy little witch was determined that every single item was going to be on that belt before a single manicured finger of hers was going to pick up and start doing what she is paid to do.
She then proceeded to sling the items at me with more speed than her slovenly demeanour looked capable of. Just one problem, no bags….
I politely asked for some carrier bags and she threw two at me, even though she’d just watched me load a full trolley onto the belt.
Do the supermarkets send their checkout operators on a Greenpeace training course? Because I swear nowadays they think they are the guardians of our planet and polar bears the world over are going to tell their cubs all about how this trusty band saved them from global warming.
“I’ll need more than that,” said I through gritted teeth whereupon Damienne insolently threw about 15 more at me.
Obviously she didn’t ask if I wanted help to pack – not that I wanted her to, she looked the kind of slattern who would put tins in the same bag as bread rolls. She also tutted when I was trying to find the right card to pay with. Being the mother of a pre-teen boy, I don’t even have to leave the house to get that kind of treatment, let alone have to pay for the privilege!
Yes, I handed over £86.20 to her employers, which I would rather have spent on shoes, who will then pay her. For what? Hating her job? For being rude and disrespectful?
Why do we put up with this? It’s ridiculous but we do! Rather than cause a fuss we gamely go against all of our instincts and keep that upper lip stiff. We are a nation of enablers, we enable these snotty teenage no marks to treat us with scorn because they think they are worth more than a job on a supermarket checkout! If you don’t like it, luv, either don’t bloody do it or pretend to like it as the rest of do day in day out. It’s called life!
So I walked away seething quietly – at least I resisted the urge to send her to her room!