Sunday, October 17, 2004
'As I trundle dutifully round with my list, saucer-eyed shoppers cloaked in Nightclub Fug buy 900 tubs of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food, then sculpt the whole lot into an effigy of Shiva in the car park.'
Jacques Peretti has been late-night shopping.
'Round where I live, we have a 24-hour Tesco (although what exactly constitutes 24 hours for the dear Tesco people, I do not know, as the shop actually closes early on Sunday afternoon).
Rarely, admittedly, have I shopped late, mainly because I prefer to actually do interesting stuff (such as sleeping) at night, but when I have, it is as interesting an experience as Perettis, albeit not quite as, it seems, fun.
We don't have that many clubbers, mainly, I believe because we a) don't have any clubs in the area and b) chavs prefer to go to pubs, hang in the streets, and stab innocent people.
What we do have is the odd nutter, you know the kind, unwashed male who mutters to himself whilst staring at you wildly in the frozen foods section, because you may just steal the last pack of breaded fish fingers from under his nose. Alternatively, you may bump into unwashed female, size XXX, who will strike up a conversation with you about the price of spam, moving on to regeneration of the area, the government, and finally homosexuality (and the unacceptability thereof), all the while seemingly friendly, but you just know that she would take your eye out in a second if you let down your guard.
As Peretti rightly observes, you can never find the things you actually want to buy. (Not that I can ever find the things I want to buy in the daytime.) Even basics such as carrots will only be available in packs of seven, of which two have been taken out of the vacuum pack and probably munched by a greasy nutter (see above).
This being England, you cannot buy any booze after 11. This is obviously incredibly stupid, given that the majority of people who shop past midnight will inevitably want to get (even more) pissed.
'It's clear that late-night shopping has little to offer the normal consumer, ie who isn't squatting, Italian or off their tits on drugs. So why on earth do it? Well, I believe that a nocturnal visit to the supermarket offers a crack in the space-time continuum. Basically, it's an opportunity to pursue consumerism into the exotic dimension of night, embarking on what pseudy French philosophers call a voyage of dissonance.'
In spite of all this, in a weird way I kind of enjoy late night supermarket shopping. It is as if time stops and allows you to lose all kind of inhibition - do you want to play with the giant teddy? Fine! The miniature tea-set that has been torn out of its wrapping by an over-eager child? Go for it! Do you want to munch on a bunch of half-mouldy grapes (the only ones left) and not care if anyone sees? You can! Want to run naked down the aisles, whilst slapping yourself with a week-dead fish, singing your national anthem? Good!
It is so quiet and the staff so disengaged that once a man ran amok with an axe in Sainbury's in New Cross and no person was harmed. He did kill a half eaten apple and the top shelves full of toilet paper, though.
Jacques Peretti has been late-night shopping.
'Round where I live, we have a 24-hour Tesco (although what exactly constitutes 24 hours for the dear Tesco people, I do not know, as the shop actually closes early on Sunday afternoon).
Rarely, admittedly, have I shopped late, mainly because I prefer to actually do interesting stuff (such as sleeping) at night, but when I have, it is as interesting an experience as Perettis, albeit not quite as, it seems, fun.
We don't have that many clubbers, mainly, I believe because we a) don't have any clubs in the area and b) chavs prefer to go to pubs, hang in the streets, and stab innocent people.
What we do have is the odd nutter, you know the kind, unwashed male who mutters to himself whilst staring at you wildly in the frozen foods section, because you may just steal the last pack of breaded fish fingers from under his nose. Alternatively, you may bump into unwashed female, size XXX, who will strike up a conversation with you about the price of spam, moving on to regeneration of the area, the government, and finally homosexuality (and the unacceptability thereof), all the while seemingly friendly, but you just know that she would take your eye out in a second if you let down your guard.
As Peretti rightly observes, you can never find the things you actually want to buy. (Not that I can ever find the things I want to buy in the daytime.) Even basics such as carrots will only be available in packs of seven, of which two have been taken out of the vacuum pack and probably munched by a greasy nutter (see above).
This being England, you cannot buy any booze after 11. This is obviously incredibly stupid, given that the majority of people who shop past midnight will inevitably want to get (even more) pissed.
'It's clear that late-night shopping has little to offer the normal consumer, ie who isn't squatting, Italian or off their tits on drugs. So why on earth do it? Well, I believe that a nocturnal visit to the supermarket offers a crack in the space-time continuum. Basically, it's an opportunity to pursue consumerism into the exotic dimension of night, embarking on what pseudy French philosophers call a voyage of dissonance.'
In spite of all this, in a weird way I kind of enjoy late night supermarket shopping. It is as if time stops and allows you to lose all kind of inhibition - do you want to play with the giant teddy? Fine! The miniature tea-set that has been torn out of its wrapping by an over-eager child? Go for it! Do you want to munch on a bunch of half-mouldy grapes (the only ones left) and not care if anyone sees? You can! Want to run naked down the aisles, whilst slapping yourself with a week-dead fish, singing your national anthem? Good!
It is so quiet and the staff so disengaged that once a man ran amok with an axe in Sainbury's in New Cross and no person was harmed. He did kill a half eaten apple and the top shelves full of toilet paper, though.
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