As I walked through M&S yesterday on an undies mission and empathising with Jeremy Paxman, I realised I was humming “Your a Pink Toothbrush” and longing for a Peanut Butter and Honey butty on white sourdough bread … I wondered if this was entirely normal or if, somewhere, someone else wasn’t doing exactly the same.
I like stupidly sharp acid drops. Ones which make your eye flicker. And Swizzels. There … I’ve said it.
One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.
You have reminded me of a writer who described herself as wandering around M&S muttering ‘Prawns, butter, underpants’. She seemed to feel this marked her out as slightly loopy. I think you might have raised that bar a bit.
She’d been eating prawns on Bondi Pier I expect. It only takes one raw one and you’re buttering your panties. (FGS who said that? With b-u-t-t-e-r of course.)
When we had small children and a dog the weekly shopping list always seemed to start
"Bread, butter, eggs, cheese, meat, milk, meal."
I am probably stuck with this chant for the rest of my life, along with my childhood phone-number and first car number-plate. I may well mutter one or all of them in a shop; they come over me at intervals without any respect for whereabouts.
Not exactly undead, nor un-undied. I am now, however, ‘additionally undied’.
I’ve had an insecurity in this aspect since my University days when, after buying some new ones (again, in M&S, but in Leeds on this occasion) with a general shop my girlfriend gave the pack to me.
Except she didn’t. I’d wandered off. She had thrust them into the unsuspecting hands of some random passer-by who dutifully took the packet.
I have often wondered if he fitted 30-32" trunks in all probability, at the time, in bright orange &/or purple.
I still write Pots, as my mother did for potatoes…
Co-op Share Number here -my mother’s not mine
34100, rung into the beautifully wrought till at every purchase
Queuing for the Divi(dend)
Noo Shoes after the Divi was paid out
I used to be sent to Peggy Doran’s corner shop (which wasn’t on a corner at all, but in the middle of a terrace).
It was, and has remained, a family tale to be told to every newcomer, that whatever I’d been sent out for and whatever else I bought I always returned with Fish Fingers.
On my other guilty pleasures … I have an abiding liking for all the “Family Favourites” tunes. I have 2 x triple cd’s of them and “Itsybitsiteenyweeny yellow polka dot bikini”, “Gilly-Gilly Ossenpfepher Katzenella Bogen-by-the-Sea” and “A Windmill in Old Amsterdam” will often waft through the lounge.
I have occasionally bought a tin of condensed milk and made two holes in it at opposite sides of the lid, then over the next couple of weeks sucked the sticky sweetness out through one of them. If you leave it in the fridge it eventually stops being possible to get it to come out, because it turns into a sort of very toffee-like white stuff which you have to eat with a teaspoon.
OMG Armitage !!! that takes me back, it was the very 1st 45 that I owned and was a 7th birthday present from Surrey sister, I drove the whole family crazy playing it again and again and again and again.