Forty’s a great age to be…Especially when you’re fifty. After the golf, I pooped into Sainsbury’s to stock up on provisions. I was perusing their range of ready-made meals for one and unwittingly found myself part of an agglomeration of middle-aged men. Each seemed to be carrying a wire basket containing the bulk of their weekly shop. I guessed that Sunday afternoon must be a popular time for dropping the kids off with their mum. For the most part they appeared to be well-dressed and trim, if a little grey and wan. Deprived of any reason to feel superior and unsettled by an unwelcome moment of self-realisation, I slunk away to Aisle 13, ‘Wines, spirits and mixer drinks’. A short while later, I presented a lightly loaded basket of my own to the woman on the till, My provisions, devoid of anything labelled as an individual portion or carrying the qualifier for one and, for some reason, including an impulse buy of bag of brown rice, were designed less to form the basis of my week’s nutrition rather than to assert my lack of sad-gittedness.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 23:14:51 +0000
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