But at the same time-having just been to the supermarket- I find myself filled to the brim with inexplicible incandescent rage.
Pulling into the drive way here my knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my eyes wild and rolling and it dawned on me that was I a sword carrier I was one very fine baby hair away from pulling a Michael Douglas in Falling Down and slaughtering half of the assorted stupid lazy bovine fuck wits I came across this fine and vindy morning.
One hair away.
I wondered then, how many of us ticking time bombs are there wandering around, keeping a lid on things with the greatest of effort?
Surely the number must be legion?
There should be a super market shopping set of rules. If people must shop at a supermarket, and let's face it most of us do at some point, then people ought to be fucking more considerate.
But people are utter utter contemptible bastards.
If in the car park a woman waits while you pull out of a space, slowly and painfully cranking the wheel of your Micra or Yaris, easing it inch by inch out of a space that would cheerfully take an Boeing 747, then the VELLY fucking least you could do is acknowledge that woman's manners and EXEMPLARY patience. You don't have to get out and start offering to bake her rhubarb crumble, but a smile, a head nod, anything at all would suffice you sloth driving twat.
Also, I understand women of a certain age all know each other and are all called Mary and Carmel and I also fully understand you Marys and Carmels have devised a way to synchronize your shopping so that you can meet at exactly the same time on exactly the same day. What I don't understand is why you must cluster at the mouth of the Butter/Cheese/milk aisle and blather, pausing only to look snootily at the polite woman who said, 'Excuse me, please' as she tried to ease past. Oh and thanks SO FUCKING MUCH or the two inch gap you were good enough to provide.
Oh, and you there, all you Kerry Katona look alikes, yeah you lot with the running children, yes especially you in the 'juicy' tracksuit bottoms, it was so fucking HILARIOUS when your Tommy clattered straight into me, I really appreciated the depth and feeling you put into your 'Tommy mind the Lady' But uttering those words after he has winded me with his mallet head is surely a bit redundant no? Look here, if you can't keep the little shit on a leash, or at the very least OUT of the strange lady's abdominals, then leave him in a childminders/playschool/Gammas/bath with a toaster and a two bar fire. Leave him doped up in the car, whatever, I don't care. OH and that gritted teeth expression the lady did warrants at least a 'sorry about that'. But that's okay, next aisle Tommy tears past me I'm going to stick my foot out and send the little darling flying. I hope he slides along the floor on his face.
Yes, I'll get 'that down for you' old lady, you were polite.
Oh great, packed to the gills and three checkouts open.
Right. Calm down, hum vide cor meum. Think about work. NO, don't think about that.
Here's another thing you could do shopper, if you're not the most self-centered miserable hag, you could pack your fucking shopping as the check out girl scans it through. See the way it's all piling up at the end there? SEE IT? Why aren't you fucking packing? What's the point of standing there like an upright Beluga in plaid watching the electronic price creep up?
Where's your purse? Why is it still in your handbag? Don't you know how supermarkets work, you're going to have to PAY for those goods you're not packing.
WHY ARE YOU NOT PACKING?
I've got everything on the conveyor belt, the woman behind is trying to unload her's, and you haven't even taken your fucking purse out. I want nothing more than to back hand you across your face you you you... Now I have to wait, the check out girl has to wait, EVERONE has to wait because you could not even be bothered to consider ANYONE other than yourself. OH yes, count out the money, oh yes make sure your purse if in the ABSOLUTE right section of your bag, now pack, could you go any slower? COULD YOU?
Oh, I see, you can.
Stay calm, don't look at her, if you look at her she'll burst into flames. You'll burst into flames. There will be flames somewhere.
Back to the car.
Bring trolley back to bay.
Back to car, heart beating rather uncomfortably isn't it?
Get into car.
Turn on car.
Wait to reverse out of space. No one will let me. Feel temper rising. Car pulls up directly behind mine even though they too must wait.
Mutter more swear words that a sailor even knows.
Every light is red.
Eventually pull into drive.
Vow to build some kind of weapon to obliterate world.
Put away shopping and have tea instead.
Decide to wander down to bottom of the garden after tea to look for phone which once again was hurled down that way sometime this morning, before supermarket trip.
Vow to start taking evening primrose.
Sit shakily at desk. Complain to chumlies.