I’ve been in a lot of pain the past couple of days and thought I’d better stock up on more painkillers. It’s nothing terminal.
You know how they package them in boxes of just sixteen pills these days? Well, I picked up three packets of different painkillers in the local Morrison’s supermarket this afternoon, including one I hadn’t tried before just in case it is more effective than the ones I am used to, and was told by the young lad at the checkout that I was only allowed to buy two of them, so I had to choose which one to reject.
My protestation that I am an adult was to no avail (if the wrinkles weren’t a dead giveaway).
So, I was presented with a “make your mind up time” in which, after considering my needs, I chose to turn down the own brand ibuprofen, which is the one I haven’t tried before. I was half expecting to be asked, “Is that your final answer?”
The checkout experience started to resemble a cheap game show. I stopped short of asking if I could phone a friend or ask the audience (the people queuing behind me).
If Bob Monkhouse had been on the checkout, he would likely have said, “In Bingo lingo clickety-clicks, it’s time to take your pick of the six.”
Or in this case, perhaps, “Banning Nanny won’t leave you be, it’s time to take your pick of the three.”
P.S. It helps if you’re a telly addict over a certain age to understand what I’m going on about.