A close shave on a shopping expedition

Sometimes, looking back, the little things that happen to you seem to give you access to insights upon more universal matters – such occurred to me yesterday.

I’ve been at the stage for a while now where not only do those close to me tease about supposed ‘senior moments’ or possible dementia-related lapses in brain function but I’ve acquired a sneaking suspicion that I’ve begun noticing them myself.

Mid-morning, prior to setting off for a weekend on the South Coast at my father’s gaff, I had been given an extensive list of food provisions to purchase from my local Sainsbury’s superstore.

However, by the time I’d driven there and parked up, I’d lost it. I searched frantically throughout the car and then the pockets of my coat, fleece and trousers without success. There was nothing for it – I’d have to ring the Mem Sahib and confess … in the process suffer the accompanying snorts of derision this would entail … and then have her talk me through said list live in ‘real’ time as I walked up and down the supermarket aisles.

But that wasn’t my only problem.

It was about this point I remembered that, just before leaving home, I’d noticed my mobile’s battery was running low and therefore had left it plugged into the wall on ‘charge’ whilst I nipped out for this supposedly quick and easy shop.

My mind may indeed be gradually shutting down (as people keep telling me) but it still had enough brainpower to work out with lightning speed that I was facing a stark binary choice.

Either I now got back into my vehicle and drove back home to search for or collect my shopping list from wherever I’d left it – or, alternatively, taking a deep breath, I might attempt to fly solo on the shop by trying to remember the ingredients of the dishes that the Mem Sahib had mentioned she was thinking of preparing for every meal over the weekend.

The big problem with the latter option was that, being male, I had only been half-listening to what she had been telling me earlier as she ‘thought aloud’ whilst writing out the list. This wasn’t entirely my fault – I had been watching one of those BBC ‘Football Focus’ preview-type programmes on the television (and reading a newspaper) at the time.

To be frank, it didn’t take me long to decide which course of action to take.

Having just driven all the way to the supermarket, it was (a) too much of a fag to drive all the way home again just to get a list; and (b) just as important, almost certainly I’d be on the thin end of a tongue-lashing when I walked in the door and She Who Must Be Obeyed twigged the reason why I was back so soon.

It is common knowledge that adrenalin – and/or fear of imminent disaster – do wonders for one’s alertness. By the time I’d collected a trolley and walked into the store I’d already worked out my defence mitigation plea for when I returned to base. I’d confess all and point out that I could always nip out first thing this morning and buy all those things I had failed to obtain on my current expedition.

Taking as much positive as I could from the above I then set out on my quest.

I had only got as far as the fruit aisle – a string-bag of limes and lemons had definitely been on the list because they’d be needed for the gin & tonics that we’d undoubtedly be consuming over the weekend – when a ‘bing-bong’ came over the store’s public address system and a female voice announced that shortly they’d be observing two minutes silence for Remembrance Day. Accordingly, I moved to the end of the aisle and readied myself for the event, standing still and holding onto the handle of my trolley.

Another ‘bing-bong’ and a “We are now observing two minutes silence” followed.

[I should point out here that I failed to buy a poppy this year. I’ve been pre-occupied recently with a cornucopia of matters and anyway, having done two trips to the WW1 battlefields with fellow Ruster Henry Elkins in the past twelve months, I figured that to an extent I’d already paid my Remembrance dues.]

The two minutes silence prompted a fascinating response in the store. At the outset only a few present including myself had stood still and adopted a reverential attitude. But quite swiftly, as we were noticed, those who had continued shopping began to follow suit. Within fifteen seconds or so it had become heartening, almost to the point of moving, as one by one my fellow shoppers joined in. Before long I should estimate that 90% of the assembled were involved. Of the remainder, the bulk were mothers of varying ages (with or without children) who just carried on shopping or – in one case in my proximity – continued chatting to each other as if nothing at all was happening around them.

As it happens I spent my two minutes thinking of various casualties of WW1 whose graves I had visited on my trips to the Western Front in 2016.

Finally – it did feel as if the aforementioned two minutes silence had lasted twice that – there was one more ‘bing-bong’ and a ‘thank you’ from the female voice over the PA system and normal Sainsburys service thus resumed.

I had recalled that we were having fish pie and peas for supper last night; roast chicken with all the trimmings for lunch and then butternut squash soup and baguette bread for our evening meal today; and finally pork tenderloin portions for lunch on Sunday.

With my brain working overtime I journeyed around the store trying my best to remember what on earth those meals might need. I recalled that Her Indoors had mentioned ‘sachets of gravy’, carrots, Maris Piper spuds and that she was intending leeks in white sauce to accompany the roast chicken. But after that … well, things were getting a little hazy.

Eggs – she always has me buy eggs when journeying to the coast. Milk – we were bound to need green-topped milk. Oh yes, cheese straws and Parma ham – she serves the latter wrapped around the former as an appetizer before lunch sometimes, I’d get some of those.

But what else? Vegetable crisps – those had been on the list, I was sure.

Gradually, like a clockwork toy car, the ‘engine’ began to slow down and eventually stop. I couldn’t remember anything else. At that point I was close to the alcohol aisles. She likes a drop – a flash of inspiration (or was it as a peace offering?) – I’d buy some prosecco fizz for us to drink when the bar opened before our Saturday roast luncheon. And two bottles, not one. That should limit the damage to a degree!

I finally made it to one of the check-out counters and did the necessary. I packed up no fewer than all of the previously-bought four Sainsbury’s bags I’d brought with me, got my Nectar card swiped and paid the £101 bill by debit card.

It was at that point that the game-changed occurred.

Completely out of the blue, as I chucked my last bag of purchases back into my trolley and wished the check-out lady good day, from somewhere – whether it was a pocket or perhaps one of the bags – a page of yellow paper fluttered to the floor.

Shiver my timbers! It was only the effing shopping list that earlier, despite all efforts including a ten-minute search of my car and clothing, I had been totally unable to find!

Once again the Byford brain went into overdrive as I pushed my trolley away from the paying area. I walked down the store to the ‘CCTV monitoring’ station beside the entrance/exit and asked the security man if he could stand guard over my fully trolley whilst I nipped off and bought the items on the list that I had failed to recall.

Fifteen minutes later, having sprinted around the store with a hand basket and checked-out at the ‘baskets only’ counter, I retrieved said trolley and walked out into the car park a relieved but also proud and satisfied man.

Out of the jaws of disaster I had grabbed a minor triumph of sorts.

[What had I missed off the shopping list when doing my ‘flying solo’ shop, I hear my regular readers ask. Spinach, two bags of small new potatoes, breadcrumbs, a part-baked baguette, olive oil and a bag of frozen peas is the answer.]