How is your corona-shopping going?
Most of my mates are up at the crack of dawn to queue during the hours set aside by supermarkets for wrinklies – why so early?
Or they’re giving lists to their kids to do the biz for them.
I canna thole queues, so there’s no way I’d stand in line for the privilege of getting my weekly bits.
I’m also aware of the pitfalls of giving my loon or quine a list.
No need for a crystal ball to foretell their reactions would be identical: “Muuum! This is huge. How much to you really need?”
(Translation: “How long is this going to take me?”)
And I really don’t relish the thought of lectures about my weekly intake of crisps or custard slices (my lockdown, new-found vice).
Besides, now I’m into with a vengeance this pan-demic cooking routine.
I pore over recipes hunting for dishes my quine and her fussy-family eaters might like, their no-way ingredients cunningly disguised. I devise huge vats of affa fine soup for their broth-mad wee yin.
Once cooked, all the dishes are exquisitely (though I say it masellie) Tupperwared for Deliveroot.
I’m thinkin’ I should maybe start up a whole new catering enterprise. Not so much Chez Mo as Nae Chez Mo… But every cook needs to schmooze the shelves, so that’s why I’m well dirled into Asda’s home deliveries, after my ever-lovin’ Tesco fell at the first hurdle.
Nae times for at least a month, while Asda allows me my “recurring slot”. Nae stress.
And while I’m at it, I just want to say a huge thank-you to everyone in retail who has stood up to the mark at this awful time.
The day-and-night supermarket workers and the long-hours folks in our neighbourhood shops.
What would we do without you? All of you, heroes.
Mind you, online deliveries can be fraught. First week I ordered a bottle of vodka, it arrived complete with security tag, which I didn’t notice until the driver had vamoosed.
Phoned to get a refund. Nope. Then I put a note on my order for the next week that the security tag on my voddie should be removed. Fat chance.
Order arrived, bottle unopenable. So I appealed to the van gadgie, pointing out the still-tagged delivery from the week before. “Nae problem,” sez he. “Have you a hammer?”
So there I am, throwing the tool oot the door to this laddie, who, doon on his hunches at my doorstep, slams into the two security tags. Success. Thanks, my hammer-hero.
Last week, Ye Gods, bottle tagged again. When I suggested the hammer-treatment, the Deliveraaasda mannie near passed oot wi’ shock. He took it back to base and arrived with the de-secured version a couple of hours later.
Thanks, Asda, ye’r doin’ a grand jobbie. And hands-off my hammer hero!