Going shopping is becoming something of a trial...I look aghast at some of the prices of goods in Tesco's... thinking that they're having a laugh at my expense...but they stock items that aren't available in our local supermarket...so once a fortnight I grit my teeth and trundle round this gigantic store that thinks pallid, teeny-weeny chickens are worth €7, bags of sugar beet sugar are priced at €2 and the best laugh is the packets of smoked peppered mackerel which Tesco sells at €14 when our local shop has exactly the same at €2-50...
But Tesco sells black cherry jam and less expensive red wine and those meat pies which are handy for Himself to cook without supervision...their own brand of petit peas are so much better than even Birds Eye and the ready custard is actually much nicer than Ambrosia's...
The cashiers are bored to tears and tend to yawn expansively if you take too long putting everything on the conveyor belt...I hiss at Himself to make certain to put all the frozen food together and the woman on the till raises her eyebrows ever so slightly but never manages to crack even a small smile...our local shops cashiers leap from their seats to help with the packing and chat nineteen to the dozen while doing so and if I fumble in my purse and apologise, they look askance and tell me there's no rush and to take my time...
The Tesco woman just held her hand out for the money and sighed.
Then I have to run the gamut of the smokers who huddle together on a bench just outside the automatic doors...there were three today...large ladies...their legs encased in thick wrinkled stockings... wearing intent expressions as clouds of smoke whirled round their heads and my imagination went into over drive as I thought of my full oxygen bottle blowing everyone sky-high and what a horrible mess it would make should we be scattered in mashed up bits all across the car-park...
I shot past them as fast as my legs would go...
Is steroid induced prediabetes harder to reverse?
