A Little Effort Goes A Long Way.

I don't want to come across as a grumpy-guts, but I hate having to go to the supermarket. I don't like how they're always cold when you step in, I find it ironic that they sell you cigarettes right by the front door yet make you walk all the way to the back to pick up your medicine, and I dislike how they compare the prices of two very similar things using different measurements, where they say "this one is £1.50 per 100g" and "that one is £14 per Kilo". Really? Is it truly that hard to get some kind of consistency? C'mon, this isn't politics so don't try and deceive us.

Anyway, I'm going around the supermarket, looking out for one of those shallow trolleys because there are none outside. You pick up your shopping, bung it in the trolley (that you've resorted to picking up in the isle and hope that it is not someone else's) and when you're done, where do you head: the self-service isle. It's not because it's quicker than a normal checkout (apparently you need ID to buy Red  Bull, which involves standing around for eleventy million years while a till person runs up to confirm that, yes, you're not five) but because it involves not having to be greeted with a "huuuui" followed by "you wanna bag wiv vat mayt'?" In fact, I was asked by a till assistant the other day if a parsnip was, in fact, a parsnip. Suffice to say I resisted the massive urge in me to convince him, with a "duh!" look, that it was actually a laptop. After this little event, you walk out, load up the car and drive out, making sure you don't hit the mass of trolleys that have congregated around those little plastic shelters that live in the middle of the car park.

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Some People Seem To Just Make It Up As They Go.

The other day someone telephoned me to ask me a question about manners and customs. I know I know, I'm sure it happens to you guys all the time, right? Anywhoo, I'm asked about what can only be abbreviated to "takeaway etiquette", and the premise is this: this person had invited a friend round for a delivery from the Maharajah House, and she had sent him an email before-hand to remind the friend to bring the cash as apparently they've got a bit of a rep for forgetting their pennies when they go scoff a korma. What followed was a phone call from the friend to say how "disappointed" he was that he'd been asked to pay. He'd got it into his head that if you invite someone round for a takeaway, that the host is obliged to pay. This wasn't even a case of "I thought that the host paid", it was a definite "No! You're wrong".

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