The satirical nature of ASDA

I don't mind shopping in ASDA, even though I obviously disapprove of the market dominance of the Walmart group, and all the other international monsters... it's a bit of a dawdle and my thoughts get surreal, for instance I've just found the shopping list I was working from on Monday and when I was walking through the pudding section I seem to have scrawled "Spotted Dick? If I wanted that, I'd go out on the pull in Cleethorpes and not use a condom". Also "Have you SEEN the f*cking price of grapes???". I must have been bored. I've been buying some old classics... thanks to certain people who apparently from time to time frequent this bloggette, I'm pretty good at farm shopping, markets and buying from producers when I can. But this week, I had a real urge to buy some shite food. Among all the healthy stuff came canned spaghetti in tomato sauce, canned ravioli, canned macaroni... the sort of rubbish I subsisted on when I first moved out of home and had to prevent myself starving to death before the next food package from my gran arrived. Don't know why. I'm not regressing or anything, just an urge I had. I've said before, I think this supermarket "good for you/extra special/yada yada yada" branding thing is over-rated. I think if I were in marketing, as soon as I'd gotten a proper price for my soul I'd put in a brand called "bad for you" and sell pies, pasties, processed chips, beans and cream cakes and watch the profits soar.

So today... the constant run of early shifts is beginning to bite; I'm averaging only five hours sleep a night and that's not any good for anybody. A decent day though; mixed the teams today, so I ended up working in a van with one of the old boys and my boss. Team Old Bloke. Had a very jolly time, enjoyed it tremendously. I've concluded I don't much like working with these virtuous new guys, who've been bumped up from the office and believe all they've been taught; I'd rather work with old monsters with time in who know every twist and can actually teach me something. Of course, it was a nice hot clear day and that improves everybody's mood. Problem was, with this sleep thing, I got back and crashed out on the couch only being woken by some bastard who wanted to try and sell me facia's and was probably suprised to find an obviously freshly woken large growly bloke clearly not at all happy to receive him "what the F**K do you want with waking me?". I should be nicer to trademen, but hey, he's a cold caller and deserves everything he got. Totally knackered my plans to get to the post office, get into town, get the kitchen ceiling painted and the bike cleaned in daylight. Guess the old body takes sleep when it needs it. Not so stupid that I try to fight it with caffeine anymore like I used... But it cost me the afternoon.

MICE. While typing this, was alerted by noise from downstairs and went down to see the lad himself , with a clearly alive mouse grabbed by the back, in his jaws. Weird things mice, this was just hanging there, not struggling, seemingly waiting for it's next chance without damaging itself further. Maybe not so stupid. Anyway, executed a textbook rescue. Not that I'm especially prissy about cats killing rodents; it's what they do. But I don't like treading on the corpses on my perfectly camoflaged carpet. And I don't like them being left under radiators, or where I see them first thing in the morning. So Mr Squeaky gets a lucky break. Textbook rescue, using a chinese takeaway box (hey, probably origionally contained rats anyway), I've awarded Gizmo the catch for stats purposes anyway, and lets face it, he'll probably go outside at the first opportunity and finish the job anyway. But what's important here... and I mean that in a very real and humanitarian way.... is that I don't have to clean the bits up afterwards. Yay !