Why is Tesco posting a loss? I never seem to be out of the place.
Oh, I know, I hear the exhortations of Messer’s Oliver and Ramsay to shop local and use fresh natural ingredients, locally sourced, but I live in Leith, gents, so the idea of pick-yer-own organics is a bit daunting.
Anyway, even Ramsay the Ranter would be hard pressed to come up with a little light supper from a recipe that included a locally sourced selection of empty cans containing the dregs of several own-brand super-strength lagers, amongst other liquids, four empty carrier bags and a half-eaten steak bake, foraged from the pavements of Great Junction Street.
So I’m afraid most of my hunter/gatherer activity takes place in Tesco, or as my family refers to it, Tesco Big. This is the one in the ex-Scotmid, on the site of the ex-railway station, next to the ex-swimming pool.
We call it Tesco Big to differentiate it from the one opposite us, on the site of another ex-Scotmid. We call that one Tesco Sorry. We call it that because it is tiny, with the inevitable constant bash of baskets as shoppers collide. As a result, the predominant sound is not the soothing sounds of a Lady Gaga hit performed as easy listening muzac, but the chirrup of apology. Every purchase comes with a free set of bruises.
It doesn’t seem so long ago that Tesco was widely regarded as some sort of invading army, to be battled and resisted. Not a day went by without yet another empty space in yet another town centre being infested by yet another massive superstore, open 24 hours a day for those shoppers who suddenly find they can’t live without croissants, Toilet Duck and an all-weather two-man tent at 2.30 in the morning. We call those Tesco Giant.
Communities launched campaigns to keep the marauder out. In Perth they started a petition. In Bristol they started a riot, which tells you a lot about the two cities, if you ask me.
Now Tesco looks like a defeated horde. Some of those built stores aren’t even scheduled to open. This, of course, is a new addition to the retail family of Tesco Small, Tesco Big and Tesco Giant – Tesco Zombie.
The shares are worth less than their carrier bags, and yet another CEO has found an unexpected item in the bagging area. His P45.
I’ll pooter along this afternoon. Every little helps.
Black pudding is good for a laugh
Ah now, before I go any further, I should point out that if Mr Ramsay appeared at my door, I could show him fresh locally sourced beef. Great Junction Street is blessed with not one but two excellent butchers, placed neatly across the street from each other, which must be handy for eyeing up the opposition window displays and being snitty about the black/white/red pudding choices.
Andersons and Bowmans are not just two fine examples of traditional retail establishments, but also proof of my long cherished theories regarding not just the health but also the cheeriness of carnivores.
Should you venture into the gloom of a health food shop, a veritable fortress of vegetarianism, you will find it staffed by pallid, vapid little creatures with the apparent inability to raise anything heavier than a small organic kumquat and certainly not a smile.
This is despite a relentless diet of kale, Quorn and homemade muesli.
By contrast, the hearty lads and lassies of the butchers world tend to not just florid complexions, but sport robust humour and thunderously good laughs as well. Doubtless, it’s all that good black pudding.
Ramsay’s barber needs verbal slap
On the subject of Mr Gordon Ramsay, what’s happened to his head?
He has a programme on the telly right now. He visits people who thought they could run a restaurant but they can’t. The food is terrible and there are dead locally sourced mice in the fridge.
Anyway, for this new venture, he has clearly visited a barber with the same standard of proficiency as the cooks he regularly tears apart like a well-roasted chicken. His coiffure is awful. The top of his head is completely flat, like an aircraft carrier for midges.
Get a decent barber in there to give him a verbal slapping.
DNA tests will stop ‘slip-ups’
And of course, we can always provide humungous amounts of locally produced doggie doo.
Good news, though, the council is going to “crack down” on dog mess. Most of us “slip up”.
In some American cities they carry out DNA tests to nail the responsible mucky pups.
Seriously, how long will it take for this to turn up on reality TV, a la Mr Jeremy Kyle? Doggy Dirt DNA – The Results!
Come to think on it, I’m surprised Tesco doesn’t sell DIY DNA Doggy Dirt Kits. What a Christmas present that would make. Yes, I have mentioned Christmas. Let the panic begin.