15:00pm: managed to visit three supermarkets in one go.
Never contemplated such an adventure in the UK – that’s literally hell on
earth. Mother found a ‘Deluxe’ range and lingered there for quite some time…
“OH MY GOD, fois gras darling!”
18:00pm: went back to our favourite boulevard and I left
mother in Alcampo to get three items. Three. I found a lovely spot by the water fountains
to make a phonecall and people-watch. For nearly an hour. Yes, it took the experienced-grocery-shopper
nearly an hour to find bread, pate and juice. She finally came bounding along
with a shopping bag and a grin to tell me how she met a lovely Cuban woman who
told her all about the Cuban war and Obama.
19:30pm: home and unpacking the three items (extended to
about ten as mother’s adventurous side kicked in apparently – we now have a
very obscure package containing what can only be described as miniature eels).
I pull out a huge carton of juice;
“Oh, that’s brave of you!” Mother whips round with a confused expression that
quickly transforms into a look of sheer terror as her eyes fall upon the juice
I’m holding, “What?! It’s orange juice, isn’t it?! Please don’t tell me that’s
not orange juice!” Oh dear. I shouldn’t have left her to shop alone. Perhaps
it’s too early? Have I thrown her in at the deep end? Surely orange juice isn’t
too difficult? I suppose this carton did have a picture of an orange on it.
Along with a large bunch of carrots and a couple of mangos. “Ah, yes, you haven’t
quite nailed this one… you’ve picked up orange, mango and carrot juice.”
Devastation hits and a loud, frustrated squeal is puffed out. “NO!! I DON’T
WANT CARROTS IN MY JUICE!!! I JUST WANT ORANGE JUICE!” The full-blown tantrum
was interrupted by my laughter as I inspected the juice further. The label
reads ‘orange, mango and carrot juice’. Large, completely legible… and in English.
I shall be sure to assist mother in the grocery shopping for
the next few months.
Adios,
Charlotte-Elizabeth xoxo
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