Читать книгу Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table - Nigel Slater - Страница 34

So, you have spent far longer shopping than you intended, getting rather carried away with the new Gary Rhodes saucepan set, and now you are late to pick up the kids from school, and there’s a queue at the checkout. Of course there’s a queue at the checkout. There is always a queue at the checkout. You start looking at your watch, and then burning your eyes into the neck of the person in front (always helps), daring them to start chatting with the checkout girl, or having the audacity to have some unpriced item in their basket that needs a price check.

All appears to be going well, and you are just reminding yourself not to be such a pessimist, when your heart sinks. The person in front is paying with vouchers cut from a magazine. In terms of annoyance, this is akin to being behind the woman who ferrets in the furthest reaches of her purse for the correct change – ‘No, I’ve got it, it’s in here somewhere, dear’ – the man whose charge card is refused, the person who finds a leak in their packet of washing powder and has to wait while a runner goes and gets a replacement. Each voucher has been religiously snipped along the dotted line, and despite the honesty with which such people no doubt spend their carefully collected booty, each has to be matched to the contents of the shopping trolley by the cashier.

Standing behind them in the queue, hopping from one foot to the other, and knowing you were late for the kids last week too, you can’t help wondering if they are redeeming the voucher against something they would have bought anyway, or are simply buying something to get money off it. You know very well they really would have preferred the almond fancies, but the voucher was only redeemable against cherry Bakewells. So cherry Bakewells it is.