Wednesday August 6, 2008
Now we have three major tasks on hand. First, deciding what needs doing to this house to freshen it up after six months of failed marketing. Second, surfing around the property sites covering our chosen area of Wales to see how availability and prices have changed. Third, and by far the most important of the three, getting adjusted to the ‘new’ domestic setup.
We’re doing fine.
Yesterday, after a long, long sleep-in, we took ourselves off to the garden centre at Monckton Elm, from there to a new housing development–viewing furnished show-houses in search of presentation tips–to B&Q (diy store) for paint charts and flower pots, and finally to Sainsbury’s for provisions.
It was at the last port of call that my day was spoiled by one of the horrid old women on the deli counter who was especially rude and offensive. This time I gave way to my worst nature, stomped off to the customer service and demanded to see a manager. “I know the one you mean,” he said. “We’ve had trouble with her before. I’ll sort it. Can we give you a small gift as apology?”
I didn’t want and did not accept the gift. I wanted that dreadful woman to be put right.
Why they staff the deli counter with that coven of unpleasant old bags I shall never understand. A supermarket deli is supposed to be a cheerful place, for staff and for customers. This one isn’t.
Hey ho. If I have any more trouble I shall take my custom elsewhere. To Asda, perhaps. Or Morrisons. Or even to Tesco.
We’d bought ourselves Swedish meatballs to have with spaghetti and a jar of rather nice organic tomato sauce. When it came to dinner time, though, we weren’t hungry for meat so I cooked us an enormous herb omelette, served with a large plate of bread-and-butter.
“Coo,” said Graham. “That was worth coming home for.”
“Thanks. Your turn to stack the dishwasher.”
