I have been shopping.
I am not going to be in residence here for the next week and it is important that Mark does not starve to death in my absence, so I have been to Aldi.
Aldi is surprisingly acceptable if you ignore the other customers and the proletarian ambiance. Apart from that their sausages are really jolly good, and their Budget Pork Pies an absolute snip at £1.35 for six. I do not know if they taste nice because I think I would just as soon eat one of Rosie’s accidents as an Aldi Budget Pork Pie, but Mark has no dietary principles whatsoever, and so I bought two packets and shoved them in the fridge at eye level so he can find them in desperate moments.
I could make some pork pies but I am too idle.
Obviously the entire experience was ghastly from beginning to end. It started off with a trip to the council with some forms that they needed. These were special declarations that we are not criminals. I don’t at all see why these are necessary because if we did turn out to be criminals it would be all over the Westmorland Gazette in a heartbeat, and there is no way on the planet that the council would not know. When poor Anthony in the flats was arrested nobody talked about anything else for weeks. That was very sad, because he is a nice chap and probably did not do it anyway, but his reputation was ruined all the same.
Also I do not see how we have managed not to have these forms since every other form we have expires at the same moment, except these, which seem to have petered out mid-term, much like the Government.
Anyway, I spent nearly an hour hopping from foot to foot in the Town Hall, producing passports, driving licences, birth certificates and credit cards, as if we had somehow metamorphosised into new people since the last time we were in there. After that I went to purchase coffee and tea, but I think we are going to become water drinkers in the near future, because a packet of tea in our Brave New World was eight quid. I could hardly believe my overdraft, what a shocking manifestation of our magnificent economic policy that has turned out to be. If I had to make a list of people with whom I would like a Little Word, Jeremy Hunt would be right up there, along with the person who has been filling up all the dustbins in the alley with empty beer cans and wine bottles. I hope the dustbin men don’t think it was us.
I went first to Aldi and then Asda, which I visited for a more reassuringly upmarket shopping experience, the world has truly come to this, folks. Also their cheese might be more expensive than Aldi’s, but it tastes cheesy, which I feel is an important part of the middle-class experience which I am not yet willing to forgo.
When I got back Mark had finished dismantling my taxi, and I can now drive to Cambridge on Sunday, although I have discovered to my utter disgust that there is a possibility that the course week will be cut short due to strike action on the part of the poor starving lecturers. Obviously this will make my life considerably easier when it comes to hurtling up the motorway to arrive in Gordonstoun half an hour after the course has finished, but I am utterly and completely not impressed. This course is not cheap, is a jolly lot of hard work, and is about to be bombed out because some Islington socialists are having to downgrade to Prosecco. I had to do that over a year ago now, I don’t at all see what they are whingeing about, and once again I have become Disgruntled of Windermere. I wrote to the Vice Chancellor and told him so.
We have had a reassuring email from one of the lecturers assuring us that even if they are on strike we can criticise our own coursework without needing any input from them, which has raised some entirely obvious questions about how much they are actually worth if this is truly the case, but I am going to sigh and become resigned. It will be nice not to actually hurtle to my death in an exhausted high-speed dash from Cambridge to Gordonstoun on Thursday night, and so if they do go ahead with the strike, at least that will be one problem resolved.
Every cloud has a silver lining…
…she said, through gritted teeth
