Am dram cats and domestic violence in the aisles

I popped (love that word) to our local Supermarché early this morning (c’est chic? Non!) though not quite early enough to avoid a modicum of populous. Admittedly the store is a bit of a chav magnet (no superiority here, I know my place) so I do tend to see a disproportionate number of young mothers with prams sporting regulation chav uniforms and the obligatory Essex facelift hair style whilst holding a lit cigarette in one hand outside the store (each to their own but can you please not do that so the ciggie smoke wafts all over your kid?). I’m never sure if they’re waiting for a taxi or are determined to finish their cigarette before entering the store or whether they are just mustering the will to face the battle of the aisles once more.

Yet again I had managed to set out as the weight watchers group was getting together at the local church and yet again a certain black and white cat seemed to wait for me to catch its eye in the alley way before making a point of running away in terror (do I look that bad first thing?) . Todays subliminal muzak in the aisles was Bronski Beat’s small town boy though it seemed to be stuck on a never ending repeat of “cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy” for longer than I would have imagined was appropriate in a supermarket setting.

I was in the cereal aisle (as you do) and could hear the wailing of a young girl from somewhere behind me. A tall lumbering man wearing what I can only describe as a vest/T-shirt hybrid garment lurched past me hurriedly and I heard what sounded like one almighty slap of a child and the immediate cessation of the cries of the child. I have no idea if he did hit her but it certainly sounded like it but I didn’t see it with my own eyes. The man, now with said child in his arms walked briskly past me again as I froze by the Sultana Bran and gave a probably disapproving look (hard to tell with my face though as I tend to look disapproving most of the time). I dithered far too long over my choice of butter or margarine or buttery margarine or I can’t believe it’s not edible spread or just simply going without. I did the same dance-of-the-ditherer again over cheese but decided I’d forgo the guilty pleasure for a while longer which probably means that later today I’ll really want to have some cheese.

So I inelegantly waddled home again with my canvas bag of purchases, encountering the same cat who waited again along the alley way until I had spotted her and made my suitably embarrassing “Here puss, puss, puss” noises before making another overacted head for the hills. I should really have got some cheese.

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Am dram cats and domestic violence in the aisles « STUFFEM-Up the hill backwards