I woke up on Sunday six Gin and Tonics away from a good sleep. My small child was bleating for breakfast and entertainment. My one day off this week was clearly going to be less relaxing than my actual job. I wanted at least to be a good mother so I took my son to the controlled mayhem of an indoor kid's gym. By 5pm I was worn out. It wasn't until then I remembered I had to do a food shop for the week. I felt sick. I started fantasising about a well-lit display of endless food, conveniently located under one roof where I could get everything I needed. It didn't matter that I am gloriously blessed with a wealth of local shops literally on my doorstep. It all suddenly seemed a bit of a fag.
But in my lurching tiredness I fortunately remembered how so many fantasies are in real life doomed to be sad, limp, disappointing affairs. Apart from my moral beliefs that if we only shop at supermarkets that's all we'll end up with and our fabulously vibrant and eclectic neighbourhoods we have will turn into vast mega malls and our towns will become soulless clone town affairs. Apart from all that I know that my local deli stocks much better cheeses, hams and bread for sandwiches than the supermarkets. The 24-hour Mediterranean grocer has cheap and good herbs, veggies and stable things like rice and lentils. The odd little corner shop sells my favourite popcorn and snacking materials. And the little health food shop around the corner is heaving with tasty pre-made veggie burgers, organic milk and frozen berries.
So I made a pack with myself – in an effort to not destroy my nerves on this cold Sunday evening I would just shop a little every few days this week. And I'll find out too if my morals are getting in the way of an easy life. I'll let you know how it goes…
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