The Joys of Retail Therapy

by Vince Nolan

I went to a well-known local supermarket the other day to put diesel into the old jalopy (I know, living the dream). The pump did not appear to want to do what it was paid to do and dispense fuel. I looked somewhat bemused as a man of my age is prone to when simple things do not work. All of a sudden a disembodied voice over the Tannoy said: “Pump number six, place the nozzle in the tank and I will turn on the fuel.” I thought to myself, with a face like that you couldn’t turn on anything else, but I let it pass. Of course I complied and lost the better part of £100 in liquid glory of a non-drinking variety. No payment at the pump facility so I entered the shop and asked the operator what this new approach was all about. Helpfully they said: “Health and safety gone mad mate.” My quick response was: “So this large box which I nearly tripped over when I came in here is not dangerous is it?” I did not wait for a response.

Talking of supermarkets another thing that has annoyed me of late is the steal-by dates on perishable foodstuffs. We recently suffered sour milk all over our morning cereal when it allegedly had another three weeks left before transitioning into cottage cheese. Nobody takes gone off foodstuffs back to the supermarket though do they. Continuing the theme, if canned goods were to expire, would that make them canned bads and what would you call an expired avocado? A guacamouldy one assumes.

Next up, She Who Must Be Obeyed had broken her glasses abseiling down a cliff face during Commando training and I offered to take them to a well-known optician franchise in the same supermarket as above. I really must stay in more. Anyway, they couldn’t fix them so I went to the locksmith and watch repair place next door who did a marvellous job on them. People talk about retail therapy, really?

Now these guys got it right at our favourite pub in Devonland. The sharp-eyed amongst you will notice that the doorbell has been removed. I have no doubt people will still stand there like melons or perhaps lemons, not having quite worked out how to open a door on their own. Attention seekers!

In conversation with the Current Mrs Nolan the other day (we still talk, well I listen mainly) and I used the phrase “Bungalow Brain” (nothing upstairs) to describe somebody who was not the sharpest tack in the box. Apparently she had not heard this for some time and took it to her place of employment and shared it with her chums. It seems they have all adopted it now, so nice to make a positive contribution eh?

The aforementioned Leader of the Opposition attends a yoga class one evening a week and ever the helpful spouse I drop her off and