You do look like a stilton person...

I hate food shopping.

I have hated food shopping since I was a little girl and NOTHING has changed.

I don't know what it is about food shopping but there must be a reason why some people, who may be approachable in other locations, just turn into complete arse's whilst at the supermarket.

I think that this is something which needs to be investigated further.

The reason for this carefully worded 'post'... cough (rant), is mainly due to the fact that I got crushed today whilst doing my weekly food shop at Sainsbury's.

Some strange creature- who smelt like an ash-tray and looked like a scrunched up version of the miserable 'Mona Lisa', pinned me against a pillar in the supermarket with her trolley, as I attempted to casually browse the cheese section.

At first I thought that this was simply an oversight on her part- that maybe, she just hadn't seen me there... but unbelievably, this was not the case!

After a few seconds, I cleared my throat in an attempt to attract her attention but she merely glanced back at me, before taking her sweet time choosing a particularly smelly and sweaty looking cheese.

Maybe like choice of dog, you can tell more about the personality of someone from the type of cheese that they choose to eat.

So there I was, my life passing before my eyes as I stood pinned against a pillar in Sainsbury's, my left arm going numb as I clutched a chilled bottle of milk.

At the time, I wasn't even sure that I would ever get free.

Maybe if supermarkets had lifeguards sitting on really tall chairs so that they could watch over the shop, they could rescue the naive food shopper like me, from brutal predators such as 'Scrunched Mona'.

Eventually Scrunched Mona chose her cheese and waddled off but not before shooting me a glance which plainly said: 'talk to me... and I will eat you'.

Lovely.

I think you have to be aggressive when you go food shopping, otherwise you just won't survive necessary supermarket trips.

I even managed to have issues in the car-park whilst trying to leave.

Stupidly, I chose a route out of the car-park which takes you across the front of the shop, meaning that you meet three zebra crossings on the way out.

The first two were relatively easy to pass over and I confidently shifted into second gear as the exit was merely yards in front of me... but then... I stopped.

I couldn't help it.

There was a sweet old lady fighting to steer her shopping trolley across my path and I had to let her go.

Problem is, when you wait for one, you have to wait for the rest of the world, as each case seems just as desperate as the last...

...he has kids with him and clearly needs to get back to his car soon, I'll let her go, she looks friendly enough, the next man has a slight limp, he'd better go too and so on and so forth.

Needless to say, I wasn't popular with the angry motorists queuing up behind me.

I might have to invest in Karate lessons or something, just so that I can boost my confidence levels and learn to be more aggressive... either that, or just stop eating.

What's worse, is that I have just discovered that whilst in an understandable state of shock, I must have picked up the wrong variety of cheese and so now I must survive on 'Organic Wenslydale' for the foreseeable future, as punishment for my timidness.

Thank god clothes shopping isn't this dramatic, otherwise I just don't know what I'd do.

High-sneak snippets

Sometimes complete strangers have the ability to make you smile and sometimes it happens when you are in need of it the most.

Whilst out shopping you see a coloured range of people and they are often so caught up in the happenings of their busy shopping trip, that they don't quite realise that what they are muttering to their friend, may as-well be broadcasted on the department store's tannoy system.

Sometimes they are speaking just a fraction too loud and attract a mass of attention... and sometimes you just simply can't help but overhear...

In this new (soon-to-be-regular) feature of my blog, I bring to you snippets of high-street conversation with the aim of making YOU smile.

I will log short snappy sentences or quick quirky conversations which I hear whilst taking in my regular dose of retail therapy.

I aim to give those of you who find shopping a chore, something to listen out for when you yourselves are battling in the high-street and everyone else... well, just something to smile about.

.............................................................

During a half time coffee break on one of my random spending sprees, I overheard a conversation between two middle-aged women on the table next to me.

What I heard quite literally had me fighting to keep my face straight in the pretence that I hadn't bared witness to anything out of the ordinary.

What made this eavesdropping episode particularly amusing, was the fact that the women in question were quite clearly the 'well-to-do' types, making what came out of their mouths all the more surprising.

Their conversation went something like this:

Upper class lady one: "Darling, am I looking unusually lovely today or something?"

Upper class lady two: "Erm... you always look lovely my dear why?"

Upper class lady one: "Well I don't want to sound bigheaded but I seem to be attracting quite a lot of male attention today and I swear I got winked at in the street!

Upper class lady two: "Yes I did notice"

Upper class lady one: "You did?"

Upper class lady two: "Erm... yes... aren't you cold in just your silk top?"

Upper class lady one: "Not overly sweetie why?"

Upper class lady two: "Now you won't take this the wrong way dear will you?"

Upper class lady one: "Take what the wrong way?" (laughing)

Upper class lady two: "Well it's just that your chest rather looks like it is trying to pick up radio signals."

And upon this sublime utterance 'Upper class lady one' promptly claps her hands over her nipples in a most indiscreet manner.

.............................................................

Magnificent.

A David Attenblog

I often refer to a shopping trip as an 'animalistic hunt' and anyone who has properly encountered the 'hullabaloo' of end-of-season sales, would not disagree.

I once witnessed two middle-aged women display a fascinating behavioral pattern which is normally associated with alpha-male gorillas during mating season. Each female competing for the prize, (in this case a pair of jeans with 30 per cent off), whilst the shoppers who manage to retain decorum merely stalk the edges of the shop- waiting to scavenge garments which are left clinging limply to the carcass of the sale rail.

After undertaking numerous shopping expeditions, I have documented many fascinating creatures which thrive in the retail world.

Often ignored but ever-present is the ‘shop assistant’ and in this very special blog, I provide you with information which has never before been documented about this creature and the three most common breeds.

1) Snobiousshopious

This particular creature is very specific about their habitat. They will not be found in common high-street shops and normally prefer to build a nest out of the finest available materials.

Be warned, this particular shop assistant can become quite hostile if it thinks that you have no placing within its' ‘finer’ hierarchic territory.

Blend in with its' natural surroundings and show that you do not feel intimidated by composing yourself with graceful airs.

2) Colossallybewilderdicus

Unfortunately, this particular breed of shop assistant is very common and can become quite alarmed when posed with even the simplest of questions.

It’s best to avoid this creature at all costs, or you may be left dealing with a painfully gormless display of highly bewildering stupidity.

3) Deservingbutnevergettingpromotionous

Finally, we have the rarest of all the creatures; the ‘caring’ assistant.

Distinguishable behavioural patterns include: genuine helpfulness and a believable expression of sorrow- often displayed when sought after garments are not in stock.

They work tirelessly to assemble a variety of coloured garments in order to create a display that will impress a largely female audience.

Look out for this particular species and treat them well because in such a profit driven industry, their numbers are sadly decreasing.

Second hand brassieres?

This week I did something which I thought I would never do... going against every instinct in my body- every fiber screaming at me to stop, to think and take heed...

I cautiously swing open the dented door to what some people refer to as; the untapped ‘Aladdin's cave’ of shops... The charity shop:

The musty odour slams into me faster than the unstoppable bus which rampages through the streets of Los Angeles in the film:Speed.

The smell is simply eye-watering and almost indescribable- perhaps it has something to do with the flea bitten feline which glares at me from above- prowling the rickety (and worryingly unstable) wooden shelving.

Its’ cold yellow eyes seem to burn into my very soul... even the cat thinks that I don’t belong here.

With my instincts (and nose) imploring me to do otherwise; I take a shaky step further into the unknown...

There are others in this grubby shop, I can’t really tell; they seem to sense my presence but do not acknowledge me, as they scurry up and down the roughly marked aisles in desperate ‘animalistic’ like pursuit of their prey: the ever elusive ‘bargain’.

The woman to the right of me- I vaguely recognise. Her faded plum Macintosh glistens with- what I fear to be: bird droppings.

This must be Cheltenham’s very own: ‘Crazy bird lady.’

I have heard people speak of her before- the woman who spends her days feeding and stroking the flying rats which swoop maliciously about the town.

She appears to be muttering to herself as she viciously attacks the drab garments which cling limply to their rusty hangers.

The speed at which she hunts is quite alarming and the look of fear in her cloudy blue eyes seems to suggest that she feels threatened by the presence of the other shoppers- well either of the shoppers or of the cat- which has now turned its’ ugly squashed face in curious attention towards her.

Ignoring the fruitful specimen of shoppers, I begin my search for the intangible ‘bargain’- carefully stepping over the dusty and damaged ‘brick-a-brack’ which clutters the equally aged carpet.

I glance at the clothing which hangs in savage execution on the railing. I suspect these items were once loved but most have certainly seemed to have had surpassed their expected wear time... perhaps I’ll leave the clothes for today.

Onwards to the jewellery which gleams in silent protest from within the shabby glass encasement in the centre of the shop.

Most items have been tossed uncaringly onto the chipped clear shelving.

To call these pieces ‘retro’ or ‘vintage’ is an understatement as I imagine that most pieces have been in existence for a very long time- which wouldn’t normally be a bad thing but the quality of the items is strangely reminiscent of the type of items which I suspect to burst out of ‘value’ crackers during the festive period... I’ll leave buying new accessories for today.

I walk meekly to the back of the shop where the shop-owner appears to dwell.

The woman behind the counter grunts in acknowledgement as I cautiously peer into the row of ripped cardboard containers which sit on the surface of the table before her alongside a bag of fowl-smelling cat food and a dish of warm milk.

She does not seem pleased that I have made it this far and the unpleasant lines around her mouth suggests that she has spent a large proportion of her life scowling at her customers for disturbing her concentration whilst reading the damp 'trash' magazine which lies before her.

Undeterred and with bated breath I take a closer look at the contents of the largest box...

...That can’t be what I think it is! Oh God it is... it’s a woman’s bra no... an entire box!

Apparently you can recycle everything...

No... This really is the final straw- it’s simply not normal! Any shred of bravery and curiosity has seeped out of me... I will leave the charity shop for today.

I had never greeted fresh air with so much relief in my entire life and I can now truly understand how Andy Dufresne felt after his escape from Shawshank prison.

I learnt two things from this mentally challenging experience:

1) Apparently you can buy second hand brassieres- you really have to see the condition of theses stained support garments to understand the true horror of this disturbing detail.

2) The people who refer to the ‘charity shop’ as ‘Aladdin’s cave’ must be one of two things; either: mentally unfortunate, or as I suspect: liars, who take some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing pale people clawing their way back to high street normality.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not normally the type to take a sneery ‘middle-class’ view on things but there are some places which truly baffles the mind.

Do famous people like Fearne Cotton really shop in these places for their fashionable vintage outfits?

I have since learnt that apparently there are ‘special’ charity shops where ‘A-listers’ dump their clothes due to an inexplicable fear of wearing the same garment twice.

If this is true then I am wiling to give this particular variety of shop a second chance... however until the exact location of these shops are confirmed; I will just stick to giving to the charity shops.

All in one shop!!!

Ever had one of those days when dignity and poise just goes completely out of the window?

Now I'm not the most dignified person to begin with, I do try to conduct myself with a commendable air of grace and elegance I really do... however those who witnessed me falling backwards out of a four foot high hot tub after an unsavoury amount of Jack Daniels and champagne on my 20th birthday last year would agree that it doesn't always go to plan. 

My regular shopping trip to Boots yesterday was unfortunately no exception...

I entered the shop with the aim to buy a powder compact and some conditioner and for most normal people this mundane choir would not normally result in an embarrassing catastrophe.

First stop: the powder compact in the make-up aisle. 

I picked up said powder compact and in order to determine that it was my regular shade of washed out British paleness; I opened it- not unusual to do whilst purchasing make-up. 

However what was unusual was that upon opening the spherical container, it shattered into three pieces in my clumsy hands. 

The first piece, (thankfully), remained in my hands. 

The second piece clattered noisily to the floor by my feet and attracted the attention of the nearest shop assistant as well as the attention of six or seven fellow shoppers around me- one of whom deemed it necessary to start an ironic slow clap. 

The third piece, not only dropped noisily to the floor but it also managed to land on it's side and therefore began rolling along the ground- (attracting further attention) but it did not stop there! It continued rolling to the end of the short aisle, across the width of the small perfume aisle and began a journey down the stairs to the photo processing and digital camera department. I would blame sub-standard craftsmanship on behalf of L'Oreal as opposed to my own clumsy nature but after years of mastering the ability to embarrass myself publicly, it would be pretty pointless. 

Second stop: Aussie hair conditioner.

This was perhaps the most unbelievably embarrassing moment that anyone has ever had whilst purchasing hair conditioner.

After spending the last couple of days stealing my housemate's hair products, I decided that it was about time that I re-stocked my own supply.

I did not however want to purchase my usual brand, I had in actual fact got used to Claire's favourite brand of hair conditioner and also thought that if I bought the same stuff, she would be able to take back a proportion of the bottle which was rightfully hers. 

As I couldn't remember which specific variety of Aussie hair conditioner was for me, I opened the first bottle and gently squeezed it near my face in order to determine that the smell was familiar enough to warrant it's purchase.  

It was. 

Happy with my decision, I toddled of to the queue with my sneakily replaced compact powder and bottle of Aussie hair conditioner. 

Whilst in the queue, I decided to double check that the conditioner was in fact the correct variety and gently squeezed the bottle as I had done before.

However, instead of receiving a gently wafted scent; I actually ended up with the contents of the bottle, exploding all over my face- up my nose and into my mouth- wonderful.

Needless to say, I hurriedly left the queue and replaced the partially empty bottle with another. 

What surprised me, and will surprise me until the day that I die, was that my loving Mother- who was crying with laughter; neglected to inform my that I had a blob conditioner positioned on the end of my nose- until after I had made my purchases and left the shop. 

Shopping can be extremely hazardous folks!