A shopping trip to regret.

Yesterday, Charlotte and I decided to take a day off writing and editing and shunting and all the other things we do, and to go out to Chichester on the spree. We dropped my watch off to be repaired and then set off happily towards the shops. We had a considerable shopping list and every intention on buying everything on it, starting with a jacket – very like this one – which I wanted to buy her for her birthday.

We was wrong!

We’d found the jacket on the internet but it wasn’t in the shop and the assistant, who was very friendly and helpful, said she thought it had sold out. Considerable woe! ‘Never mind’, we said to one another, ‘we’ll find another one.’ And we moved on to the second item on our list, on the way to our next shop. Couldn’t find what we were looking for there either! Woe and double woe! ‘This isn’t our day’ we said to one another. But we strode forth nevertheless, determined to be successful in our third trip.

Yes, you’ve guessed it. Our third port of call was Boots where I had every hope of buying the strips I needed to test my blood sugar levels. I’ve been buying them from Boots, for more years than I care to think about! But they weren’t there! And another very helpful assistant told us that she thought they’d been discontinued. Considerable groaning ensued. But Charlotte came to the rescue, dear girl that she is, and phoned around to find if there was anywhere else where the strips were still being sold. She found one local chemist who had one pack left and asked her to put it on hold for us until we could come and collect it. A success, although in a very roundabout way! Not quite high-five territory, but close!

By that time, we were feeling in need of sustenance and took ourselves off to Marks and Spencers for coffee and cake. Bliss! And a return to normal. Then we did some food shopping and dear old M&S didn’t let us down. We emerged from the store with a full shopping basket and our faith in shopping restored.

Wrong again! 

‘Now,’ we said. ‘All we’ve got to do is pick up the watch, we’ve given them an hour, it should be ready by now.’ You’ll never guess…! It wasn’t ready and they didn’t know when it would be, but they would ring me when it was, which surprise, surprise, they still haven’t done. Groan, growl, stomp off kicking the pavements all the way to the carpark. ‘This,’ we said to one another, ‘is definitely not our day!’

Little did we know, there was a final horror waiting for us in the car park. One of my old adversaries, otherwise known as a ticket machine, was lying malevolently in wait for us. And of course, the damn thing wouldn’t accept my card for payment! It went straight into clicking and growling overdrive before flashing up on the screen that it had no intention of taking it. I answered it with my usual routine. Swearing, card out, card in, buttons pressed, yet another refusal. Repeat performance. And on the third attempt when I was pulling my boots up ready to kick it, it gave in and allowed me to have what I wanted. Not exactly what I would call a successful spree!

I hate machines!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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