A grand day out

I’ve arrived. An all too familiar bubble of excitement floats up in my tummy…

First things first: trolley selection. One of the smaller ones, always. The big ones are too unwieldy, too old-fashioned — the type you’d see abandoned in a post-apocalyptic scene, flanked by mounds of rubbish, skies darkening overhead. No. I like the dinky ones. They’re sleek, nifty, and they corner like a dream: the Ferraris of supermarket trolleys, if you will. The traffic lights — a relic from Covid times — are green. And so I enter. 

It always feels like that bit in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. You know the bit, where Willy Wonka unleashes all the shitbags — and lovely, unassuming Charlie — to explore the bounties of his Chocolate Room. It’s just a fairly bog standard Tesco, this one. Just my regular, weekly haunt — not even a Tesco Extra — but still. My daughter’s words play in my head: “Sainsbury’s: the land of opportoonity”, she says in an American accent, eyebrows arched. She just made it up, a random catchphrase that came to her. She has no idea how right she is. That’s exactly what supermarkets are for me: lands of glorious opportoonity. 

I try to play it down, of course. I don't want people to think I'm having a breakdown. 

“I’m gonna have to go to Tesco”, I sigh to my husband, “We’ve run out of (quick, think of something life-ending) bread —  and porridge…I really can’t be bothered… Actually, why don’t you go?” Please say no, please say no. 

Luckily for me, he hates going to the supermarket. And he knows it’s like crack for me. Still, we play our parts. 

“I’ll go if you really want me to.”

I concede: “No it’s alright, I’ll go”, before turning with a wry smile to give my soliloquy on how I really feel about going to the supermarket.

This is something I’ve pondered. Why do I love supermarkets so much? It’s not love, actually. More need, and certainly adoration. Borderline addiction. There was one day when I went to four in a row. They’re my happy place, a sanctuary of sorts. And this isn’t some middle-aged phenomenon — this is the real deal. This isn’t just a love affair… this is a lifelong love affair. 

23 years ago I got my first student loan instalment. Do you know what I did? I put on my Mel B leopard print coat, and high heels — to the amusement and bemusement of my two flatmates — and flounced up Finchley Road to the big Sainsbury’s: the land of you know what. I bought a side of salmon and too many vegetables. I bought tins of Napolina chopped tomatoes and fresh basil. I bought good quality extra virgin olive oil and bulbs of garlic. I even bought a candle. I was 19. And this was the best moment of my life so far, the absolute zenith: going around a huge supermarket, alone, with my own (borrowed) money. God, I felt like a fucking rockstar. I had no idea how many bagfuls I was buying until I had to carry them home, stopping every couple of minutes to relieve my aching fingers, my feet killing me, sweat trickling down my back.

Now I wear Vans and listen to a podcast as I go round (today it’s Jay Rayner’s Out to Lunch with Jimmy Carr). I no longer get dressed up to go to the supermarket. I look like what I am: a 41 year old mum shopping for a family of four, who only wears heels a couple of times a year. But the feeling: the anticipation, the little bubble of excitement in the pit of my stomach, the thrill of going in through the automatic doors — that’s still going strong. 

My feet quicken, taking me past the weird bit at the beginning (newspapers, headphones, something to do with SIM cards) and into the heartland: the fruit and veg section. I watch a man grab a punnet of plums and semi-chuck them into his trolley. Anarchist. Or antichrist. Either one works. He didn’t even check them! He didn’t give them a second look! I suppress a tut and pick up a punnet of plums. Watch and learn, mate. There’s a specific colour I’m looking for: plummy. Too pale and they’re likely to be sour, especially if they’re on the smaller side. I inspect a few punnets and feel a few plums before making my final choice. It’s all about selection. 

Maybe that’s why I love the experience of supermarket shopping so much. I get to be in charge, make decisions — extremely low stakes decisions. I’m the man from Del Monte. I say what goes in the trolley. Ooh look! Runner beans, reduced to 34p from £1.30! I pick up four packs, two for me and two for my mum, imagining them sautéed with garlic, butter, salt and pepper. Or maybe I’ll do them the way my mum does, with saffron and tomatoes. I pull out an earbud to speak. “Oh sorry!” I say to an old lady next to me, for no real reason. 

“Oh you’re alright, love. I’m just getting in the way.”

“No, it’s me!” We both laugh. 

Around the corner are Valentine’s cards: the seasonal aisle. A man in his 60s and his wife are looking at them. “You’re the best”, he reads, in my vague direction. 

“Thanks!”, I reply. They hoot with laughter, we all do. 

“He says that to all the ladies!”, quips his wife. More laughter. The vibe is good in Tesco today! I feel like I’m in the Truman Show. And so on I go, picking up this and that, having brief, jovial exchanges with my fellow Tesco-ers. I remember to buy hay for the guinea pigs, frozen peas, and Weetabix. I grab dry roasted peanuts and a pack of my favourite sweets, Midget Gems, to be secreted away later. I peruse all the pretty gin bottles – and would you look at that… My favourite red wine is on offer - £3 off! I pick one up and head to the till, Jimmy Carr laughing in my ear. Him and Jay Rayner are eating a soup with abalone in it, something I’m happy to never try. 

The woman in front of me puts the ‘next customer’ thing on the conveyor belt. I thank her and begin to load up my shopping. Shit! I forgot to get onions. I leave my stuff and run back towards the veg section. For me, the story of going to the supermarket always ends in the same way: a frenzied last minute dash. My mum says it’s because I don’t write a list, a fact that appals her. But I like it this way. It’s the perfect ending: sprinting through a supermarket, dodging small children and old ladies, leap-frogging over trolleys (ok, I’ve never done that). 

I quickly inspect a bag of red onions and run back with them. The lady at the till smiles. “Did you forget something?”

“Yes! I always forget something.”

“You should write a list”.

Et tu, lady at the till? I smile at her.

List? Who needs a list in the land of opportoonity?

P.S. Here are my top 5 supermarkets:

5. Asda, Gosforth, Newcastle upon Tyne

4. M&S, Cribbs, Bristol

3. Tesco, Lime Trees, Bristol

2. Sainsbury’s Abbey Wood, Bristol

1. Waitrose, Abergavenny, South Wales: the crown empress of all supermarkets. (Cafe, wide aisles, friendly inhabitants, the biggest crisp selection you’ve ever seen, and… a John Lewis at the end. If you haven’t been, put it on your bucket list).