Tag Archives: waitrose

Lost in Waitrose

I went for a run yesterday, and then I remembered that I didn’t have any food, so I hopped on my bike and went to the shops. (I stupidly listened to my little sister’s incessant mocking of my glorious Iceland purchases, so spent thousands of pounds in Waitrose instead).

Waitrose at 8.30pm is an odd and dangerous ecosystem. For a start, you enter at the fruit section. Now, I’m not anti-fruit. I’m not even on-the-fence about fruit. I like fruit, and I think people should eat it.

But, unless you are a fruit fly or Gwyneth Paltrow, the main thrust of a supermarket visit is not for the fruit. Nevertheless, Waitrose makes you start there.

I chucked a couple of bananas and some grapes (the grapes came in packets- they weren’t just rolling idly around on the bottom of my basket-though I believe I did see someone try to jiggle a grape free from its packet and into their mouth) into my basket, and moved away from the fruit.

The next thing I knew, I was freezing.

I was standing in front of the type of freezer conglomeration more usually found in a cryogenics lab, trying to work out which food it was that retained all its vitamins if it was frozen, but lost them all if you ate it fresh. After wavering uncertainly for a few, icy moments, I plumped for the danish pecan pie.

The rest of the trip was an exercise in ignoring the fabulously well-dressed and attractive other shoppers, who were apparently filming some sort of  Waitrose sponsored romantic-comedy.

(I refuse to believe that anyone goes to the supermarket for a baguette, some camembert, champagne and truffles. Where is the toilet roll? Do people not realise how quickly bin bags get used up?)

I hunted down a kindly Waitrose employee to discuss at length where one would put popping corn, while he subtly tried to squirm away from my well-reasoned and logical analysis of this conundrum.

I returned home at last, whereon I discovered that, irritatingly, bananas are heavy enough to squash grapes, and frozen pecan pie does not  stay frozen for the entire length of a popping corn logistics debate.

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Eating (not alone, with people)

I have spent the weekend eating. In my defence, it wasn’t covertly, alone in my room, having pretended to the nice lady at the Waitrose checkout that I was having a party. It was in public, with my friends. On Saturday, I had my second ever engagement party. (Yes, I’ve been dragged to engagement parties as a child, but this was different. This time, I was actually invited). I arrived late (not because I am impossibly rude, but because, as I had dutifully warned the hostess, I was working in the morning). ‘Hello!’ I said cheerfully to whoever opened the door. ‘Which way is the food?’ I headed out to the garden, ignoring the laden plates of salads.

(Only idiots get waylaid by salads. This was certainly not my first BBQ). I stood at the entrance to the garden. I could see the BBQ, glimmering hopefully in the background. But first I had to make it there.

The garden was littered with my friends. I put on my sunglasses to protect myself. I took a deep breath, put my head down, and started out towards the BBQ. ‘Hello!’ I said vaguely to the people I passed. Some of them tried to talk to me. ‘What would Liam Neeson do?’ I muttered to myself. ‘Well, he probably wouldn’t have worn heels,’ I scolded myself, as I got stuck in the lawn.

I reached the BBQ. For a moment, I was confused. I thought, distantly, that I might have made a terrible faux pas. What if, even though I’d arrived late, no-one had started eating yet? I was surrounded by meat.

I surreptitiously snuck a look behind me, and relaxed. Everyone had eaten. My hosts had clearly used this engagement party as an opportunity to help spend the UK out of the recession. I began to pile my plate as high as possible. (Which, in case any one is wondering, is very high. It’s all a matter of building a solid base of similar-sized sausages).

‘Happy engagement,’ I mumbled to my friend through a mouthful of burger. ‘I now see why you wanted to get married. The food here is fantastic.’ My friend laughed, but I saw the gleam of delight in her eyes as her fiance approached us with pudding.

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