57 varieties is the spice of life

Gah! I think I’m turning into a Latino.

I was in the supermarket the other day, skulking among the tomatoes, when I spotted a tall, blonde girl at the checkout.

I was momentarily surprised. Every other shopper and staff member was short and dark. She shone like a beacon.

The girl had her back to me. First, I checked to see if she was wearing heels (she wasn’t)

Then I moved slightly so I could see her face. I suddenly thought that perhaps I might know her.

Then I started to wonder what country the girl was from and had fleeting thoughts of asking her how tall she was.

I was seconds from wandering casually over to the blonde when I stopped and almost shook myself.

That is exactly the sort of weird and wonderful behaviour I encounter every single day.

(The highlight so far was when one of my bosses stood on a chair to kiss me goodbye. He thought it was hilarious. I endured the episode with a fixed smile and a mock curtsey)

I returned briskly to my shopping and my heart almost stopped when I spotted, nestled among dozens of tomato sauce sachets, a squeezy bottle of Heinz ketchup.

I was hoping to cook my housemates a typical English breakfast the following morning and serving it with baked beans was my number one aim (I’m sorry, but it’s not a fry up if it doesn’t include beans).

Of course, the misson was only going to end in disappointment.

I couldn’t find any baked beans, let alone posh Heinz ones.

I couldn’t find potato waffles or hash browns.

I couldn’t find bacon.

The only sausages were chorizo and, worse, an unidentifiable brand of meat that may have been beef, or quite possibly lamb, or perhaps another animal altogether.

I gave up. Next week I’m going to try shepherd’s pie.