kaimono sura-sho?
It dawned on me, an hour or so after I woke up this morning, that I would have to go shopping today. I had temporarily forgotten that the contents of my fridge consisted of a grapefruit, a knob of butter, some cheese, and an old lime. Thus was the end of my half-awake languishing in bed.
I've never been a fan of food shopping. When Gideon and I used to go to Sainsbury’s in Alperton, or Tesco in Perivale (curse them) we would invariably end up snapping at each other, or I would end in a strop about something. Being in a large yet confining, florescent-lit space is not my idea of fun. That's why internet shopping is so good. In supermarkets one is at the mercy of monosyllabic men steering trolleys with minds of their own, pushy women who like to squeeze all the fruit in the box before selecting the first one they molested, harassed mothers shouting at their screaming offspring (or beating them if you're in the right town); and the token loon who has to stand and count all of the glitter in the flooring just in front of you. Mix that smattering of 'humanity' with staff who are either half-dead or gripped with a megalomaniacal sense of self-importance and I come to wonder why I never went postal.
Couples in supermarkets are always amusing to watch. The guy normally slouches around after his girlfriend (whose filling the basket/trolley full of stuff), muttering about the price of things, or suggesting that they get that portion of mackerel because it's one pence cheaper than the one she picked up. There's a reason most women end up doing the shopping themselves. It takes half the time and there's no one trailing along behind them making 'suggestions'. Still, there are those first heady days of shopping together where you find yourselves eating each other's faces off next to the scouring pads, or having a romantic clinch over the frozen veg. Or maybe that was just Gid and I.
So anyway, I went shopping. The nearest place to my apartment is Apita, a huge grey and yellow building which not only houses a supermarket, but also a McDonalds, dry-cleaners, pharmacy and two floors of clothes, toys etc etc. This being Ina, Apita is the place to go at the weekend. And everybody goes there. Everybody. I think I've mentioned my small panics at having to leave the house, and today was no different. I dithered and dithered for a good hour before deciding that if I didn't go I couldn't eat tonight, nor dye my hair tomorrow. So I left the house wearing my armour- masked behind my sunglasses, jacked-in to the iPod - and negotiated the freezing wind and slush.
The first sense of terror set in when I came out of the back roads I cut through to find myself at the turning for Apita. Traffic comes from five directions and there are no provisions made for pedestrians - not even a pavement. One has to develop a good sense of timing and nerves of steel for this venture as it very often involves having to walk out in front of approaching traffic with the hope that it'll slow down for you. That obstacle overcome, you then have to get round the supermarket. If you think shopping in English is bad, try it in a language you can barely read. Fortunately, most packaged items have pictures of the product on them so it's more a case of figuring out whether it has meat in or not.
Then there are the checkouts. I took me two or three goes to figure out the rules of the checkout. Unlike in England where you pack your shopping as it is hurled down the conveyor belt at you, the checkout staff will neatly bag loose items and place your shopping in a new basket, which is then carried over to one of a series of tables beyond the checkout. Once you've paid, you then stuff your shopping into bags at these tables, freeing the checkout for the next customer.
Today, a strange sense of unreality overcame me while I was putting my shopping in my rucksack. I seemed suddenly incapable of packing my shopping, and it felt like ages before I got it all done. The sheer number of people about me became disorientating, and the woman packing her shopping next to me seemed to become incredibly aggressive in manner. I shouldered my rucksack and hurtled home.
This feeling is still with me now. The feeling of unreality. I think this may have to do with going to bed at 6.30am. There's nothing more unreal than walking home in the light, with the birds chirping about you. Walking past the early-risers out for runs, or walking the dog, made me feel very much like the dirty stop-out I was. I wish I'd had my brain in gear. I could have taken some sickly morning-lit shots of Ina for you - of the inch of slush that has fallen over the course of the night. But I didn't. I have to get into the habit of taking photos with my camera phone.
Speaking of which, here a couple of photos from last night:
The rather fabulous birthday cake.
The three birthday people blowing out their candles: Makoto (blur to left), Tomokazu (center) and Yasuko (blur to right). Saori (the teacher who left last week) is sitting next to Tomokazu.
I've never been a fan of food shopping. When Gideon and I used to go to Sainsbury’s in Alperton, or Tesco in Perivale (curse them) we would invariably end up snapping at each other, or I would end in a strop about something. Being in a large yet confining, florescent-lit space is not my idea of fun. That's why internet shopping is so good. In supermarkets one is at the mercy of monosyllabic men steering trolleys with minds of their own, pushy women who like to squeeze all the fruit in the box before selecting the first one they molested, harassed mothers shouting at their screaming offspring (or beating them if you're in the right town); and the token loon who has to stand and count all of the glitter in the flooring just in front of you. Mix that smattering of 'humanity' with staff who are either half-dead or gripped with a megalomaniacal sense of self-importance and I come to wonder why I never went postal.
Couples in supermarkets are always amusing to watch. The guy normally slouches around after his girlfriend (whose filling the basket/trolley full of stuff), muttering about the price of things, or suggesting that they get that portion of mackerel because it's one pence cheaper than the one she picked up. There's a reason most women end up doing the shopping themselves. It takes half the time and there's no one trailing along behind them making 'suggestions'. Still, there are those first heady days of shopping together where you find yourselves eating each other's faces off next to the scouring pads, or having a romantic clinch over the frozen veg. Or maybe that was just Gid and I.
So anyway, I went shopping. The nearest place to my apartment is Apita, a huge grey and yellow building which not only houses a supermarket, but also a McDonalds, dry-cleaners, pharmacy and two floors of clothes, toys etc etc. This being Ina, Apita is the place to go at the weekend. And everybody goes there. Everybody. I think I've mentioned my small panics at having to leave the house, and today was no different. I dithered and dithered for a good hour before deciding that if I didn't go I couldn't eat tonight, nor dye my hair tomorrow. So I left the house wearing my armour- masked behind my sunglasses, jacked-in to the iPod - and negotiated the freezing wind and slush.
The first sense of terror set in when I came out of the back roads I cut through to find myself at the turning for Apita. Traffic comes from five directions and there are no provisions made for pedestrians - not even a pavement. One has to develop a good sense of timing and nerves of steel for this venture as it very often involves having to walk out in front of approaching traffic with the hope that it'll slow down for you. That obstacle overcome, you then have to get round the supermarket. If you think shopping in English is bad, try it in a language you can barely read. Fortunately, most packaged items have pictures of the product on them so it's more a case of figuring out whether it has meat in or not.
Then there are the checkouts. I took me two or three goes to figure out the rules of the checkout. Unlike in England where you pack your shopping as it is hurled down the conveyor belt at you, the checkout staff will neatly bag loose items and place your shopping in a new basket, which is then carried over to one of a series of tables beyond the checkout. Once you've paid, you then stuff your shopping into bags at these tables, freeing the checkout for the next customer.
Today, a strange sense of unreality overcame me while I was putting my shopping in my rucksack. I seemed suddenly incapable of packing my shopping, and it felt like ages before I got it all done. The sheer number of people about me became disorientating, and the woman packing her shopping next to me seemed to become incredibly aggressive in manner. I shouldered my rucksack and hurtled home.
This feeling is still with me now. The feeling of unreality. I think this may have to do with going to bed at 6.30am. There's nothing more unreal than walking home in the light, with the birds chirping about you. Walking past the early-risers out for runs, or walking the dog, made me feel very much like the dirty stop-out I was. I wish I'd had my brain in gear. I could have taken some sickly morning-lit shots of Ina for you - of the inch of slush that has fallen over the course of the night. But I didn't. I have to get into the habit of taking photos with my camera phone.
Speaking of which, here a couple of photos from last night:
The rather fabulous birthday cake.
The three birthday people blowing out their candles: Makoto (blur to left), Tomokazu (center) and Yasuko (blur to right). Saori (the teacher who left last week) is sitting next to Tomokazu.