Supermarket Gripes

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I haven’t had a good rant for a while, so best I put that right.

I had cause to go into a large store of a well-known supermarket a while ago.

Make that a very large store.

An extremely large store. Obscenely large.

It was like a medium sized city inside.

Or possibly a large cathedral, which would feel more appropriate, since these things are the glorification of the worship of money. How so? This store, like most others of its hateful ilk, does not simply sell food, any more.

Oh no.

It sells clothes. It sells white goods. DVDs and CDs. Computers and accessories. Mobile phones. Books, stationery, and greetings cards. Items of furniture. Garden items. DIY stuff. It has started its own bank and offers everything from insurance policies to bank accounts. The list seems endless. If I had wanted a lighthouse or a wolf they would probably have got me one from out the back.

There seems to be very little that it does not yet sell, although I have no doubt that it will only be a matter of time before those few gaps are filled.

Its business plan is simple – put every single other type of shop out of business, and corner the market in everything.

I had the strangest feeling – the feeling that I was somehow diminished, just by being in there.

And the food items? The reason I went in there in the first place?

Apparently it is essential that we are able to choose from well over a hundred types of cheese which particular one we need – strong, very strong, beat your brains in, mild, sliced, grated, chopped in cubes, turned into string, low fat, no fat, cows’ milk, sheeps’ milk, antelopes’ milk, crocodiles’ milk, virtual cheese, and all produced by four or five different companies.

And that’s just the cheddar.

Its website tells me that it sells 343 different cheese products. I’m all for choice, but, good grief!

Interestingly, looking at a website for a rival big multinational, I find they sell 344 of these products. Perhaps I should go there, instead? I wouldn’t want to miss out on a shopping opportunity. They might be able to offer me a better ‘shopping experience.’ For my ‘shopping solutions.’

Why do advertising agencies have to come up with that drivel?

And that brings me to another interesting thought.

There is the push to encourage all shoppers to use the ‘self’ check-outs, but at least they seem to have reined back a little on the verbal persuasions. I was standing in line at my ‘local’ small branch last year, when I was approached by a member of staff who suggested I use a ‘self’ check-out.

‘No thanks.’ I said.

‘It’s okay,’ he told me, ‘I’ll show you what to do.’

I can see perfectly well what to do. I don’t intend to use it.’

‘Why not, sir?’

‘Because it’s sole purpose is to take away your jobs.’

‘That’s not so…’

‘I suggest you look at their website, then. Because I have. It clearly states that is one of the advantages of buying one.’

Damn the lot of them.

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1000 Up

Apparently, I how have 1000 followers.

Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

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But, really?

I suppose this should be reason to celebrate, or at least look pleased with myself, but let’s just stop a moment and examine the figures a little.

Out of those 1,000 followers, 150 of those are my Facebook friends.

Because that’s what WordPress does, it automatically adds them to your tally. No matter if they are all blog followers anyway, they add the lot. So lots have been counted twice.

So that takes out around 50.

And of the rest of my Facebook friends, a good half never, ever, visit my blog (fickle lot!).

So, another 50 gone. And we’re down to 900.

But out of those 900, there are a lot who have left the blogging scene completely. Without trawling through every one of them, it is fairly easy to take a random clutch of them (quite a large clutch, I must say) and go to see whether they are still active. It’s hardly a scientific method, but approximately one third have either disappeared completely, or haven’t posted for three months or more, leading me to suspect they’ve packed up.

So, down to about 600.

Of those 600, again looking at a few random clutches, after their initial contact and ‘follow’, I don’t think a good third ever came back again; they probably just hoped to get a follow back.

Down to about 400.

And out of those, about a third again don’t seem to have visited for at least a year.

So, I suspect the number of actual, active followers is close to 250, or a quarter of the ‘official’ figure.

But what does it matter, anyway? The point about posting is that someone should read what has been written, and then hopefully interact by commenting occasionally, or at least ‘liking’ now and again. It’s not compulsory, of course, but it would be odd if a regular visitor never did either. So as long as I get a decent number of regular readers who do interact with my posts, I’ll be a happy bunny.

On the other hand, if this post gets 1000 likes, I will eat my words.

Fate

There is no such thing as fate; not in the sense that something was somehow pre-ordained to happen to us. Always, we have free will.

Always, we can make our own choices.

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People sometimes talk about momentous decisions, about arriving at a crossroads and having to make a choice of some sort, but every moment in life is, in reality, one such crossroads. Even the smallest choices, such as whether to have tea or coffee, or whether to cross over to walk on the sunny side of the street, might have major consequences. Consequences we cannot foresee.

And we do not see the consequences of an alternative choice, because we always make the choice and move on; we can never go back and make a different decision and thereby see how things might have turned out so differently.

And sometimes, those decisions we assume are going to be momentous, are nothing of the sort.

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time is not fate, it is chance.

Fate itself is no more than chance.

It is the path that we have chosen, and every single moment we can make choices that will change our lives for ever.

Exciting, huh?

The Collector

Inspiration, writers’ block, ideas…I could write about all or any of these topics. Instead, I thought I’d simply post another poem – plus, of course, a picture (with far better weather than we’re having here) – and let it do the job instead.

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I’m a collector of images long stored in my memory,

A desert inferno of razor-sharp rocks.

A mountain breeze rippling an icy cold puddle,

Thick mists and thin soups, flowers, trains, and old shoes.

 

I’m a collector of memories, both mine and ones borrowed,

The harrowing journey, the lovers’ first kiss.

There’s betrayal and loyalty, flatulence, hope,

There’s a child being born, and a wolf at the door.

 

I’m a collector of stories, the stranger the better,

Believable, odd, and ridiculous too.

Close to home or historical, alien, fanciful,

Some to keep secret and some I can tell.

 

I’m a collector of moonbeams and of chance reflections,

A collector of sadness and bittersweet pain.

A collector of strangely shaped stones in a circle,

And dreams that tell stories I don’t understand.

 

Some Flower Paintings

All poppies, in fact.

Since the weather is so miserable outside, it seemed a good idea to inject some colour into my life. Or into my blog, anyway.

I hope you enjoy them.

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Poppy #1. Acrylic on board. Size: 11ins x 14ins.

poppies and daisies

Poppies and Daisies. Acrylic on Board. Size: 18ins x 24ins.

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Poppies. Acrylic on board. Size: 24ins x 18ins.

Old

One more of the poems from a notebook of about 25 years ago. Re-reading them, I am slightly surprised to find I rather like a lot of them, still. Although my style has altered considerably, my sentiments are still much the same. Which is as you would expect, I suppose.

But there are plenty that I certainly won’t be inflicting upon you!

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As hard as ice and twice as cold,

The devil that is growing old;

Who taunts our bodies’ feeble frames,

And takes our minds – forgetting names.

 

As cold as ice and twice as hard,

The back that’s bent, the hand that’s scarred.

The face that’s worn and lined with sorrow,

The fear there may be no tomorrow.

 

The fear tomorrow may come yet,

And bring us more embarrassment,

But how we cling with greedy hands,

To these poor fragile, shallow, lands!

Here, This Is For You – NO! Don’t Touch It!

Now, here’s a thing.

A blogger posted recently that he was offering one of his books for a week or two as a free download.

Later, he posted angrily that lots of people had downloaded his book for free and why the devil could they not have bought it from him?

I do wonder whether I am missing something here.

The debate rages (I say ‘rages’, perhaps that is a bit of an exaggeration) over whether we should give away books for free to promote ourselves, or to promote other books in a series.

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Now here’s a thing.

On one side, there are those who say that people are attracted to free downloads, and this will help to get the author’s name known. Then after the book has been read for free, the reader might be more likely to buy another book by that author.

On the other side, there are those who say that most free downloads languish on disks and are never read, and that they create an expectation that writers will give away their work for free, thus making it less likely that the reader will buy more books.

At times like this, I do what I always do when I need advice and guidance.

I ask Bob.

‘Do I want a free book?‘ he asked me. ‘Of course I do! Have you got it with you now?’

‘I’m afraid it was a rhetorical question, Bob, but I note your reply. What if you were the author, though. Would you give it away?’

‘Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Well, that doesn’t make any sense. Isn’t that rather a contradiction?’ He shrugged.

‘Maybe. But you asked me the questions, so I answered them.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘But no wonder your friend was cross,’

‘They’re not my friend, Bob.’

‘Whatever. No wonder they were cross, if they offered their book for free and lots of people had the cheek to take up that offer.’

‘But that doesn’t make any sense either, Bob. What would you have done?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes’

‘I’d have taken the book.’

‘But would you have offered it in the first place?’

‘No, of course not.’

I knew I had been reminded of someone when I read the original posts.

It could have been Bob.

Measurements

 

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We measure out our time in days,

We measure things so many ways.

We measure distance out in miles,

We measure happiness with smiles.

 

Some think the dollar and the dime

Should be the measure of their time.

The passage of each single hour,

Is marked by exercise of power.

 

I think our time is short enough,

Without recourse to such sad stuff.

I’ll measure my remaining years,

With laughter, books, light rain and beers.

My Button’s Bigger Than Your One!

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My button’s bigger than your one.

You’d better let me play, or else I’ll go,

And take my toys with me.

I’ve got more friends than you have.

That picture’s fake, you’ve Photoshopped in

An extra friend or three.

 

Vlad’s my pal and he’ll get you.

He’s got your name, and he’ll beat you up,

At the end of school tonight.

That fat, specky boy’s gonna get it,

He won’t have a clue what hit him

When we get into a fight.

 

See that girl in the playground?

I’ve done it with her! Oh yes, I did!

Of course, she wanted me to.

I’ll tell you how it’s done, you grab them!

Show them who’s boss, they love it,

Yeah, that’s what you do.

 

Don’t believe all the stories those boys tell.

They’re all liars and cheats and I’m not listening.

La la la I can’t hear you!

White is black, black is white, do you hear me?

All the adults are wrong,

Just believe what I tell you to.

 

I’m the head boy of the school, because

I won the popular vote, the biggest number of votes,

Despite my opponents cheating.

I’m also the head school bully,

And if you’re gay or disabled, Moslem or black,

I’ll give you a jolly good beating.

 

Because my button’s bigger than your one!

It is, too!

Stupid face!

You’re stupid!

Poo head!

My friends’ll beat you up, fatty, if you don’t watch out…

Nyagh! Nyagh! Nyagh!

 

Oh.

 

Nobody likes me!

It’s not fair!

 

Happy…Birthday?

I know I’ve already checked back in since Christmas, but, well, just to say it was slightly quiet and fairly peaceful. Hope you all had a nice Christmas and New Year. We didn’t do much, but that suited us just fine.

We didn’t do much at all.

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Anyway, back to business. It was my cousin’s birthday, recently. So I sent her a card.

But most shops seem to think you only want Christmas cards, that close to Christmas, and make it really difficult for you find a birthday card.

‘You’ve got thousands of Christmas cards on display, what about birthday cards?’

‘Birthday cards? There’s a couple in the cellar at the back of the shop, I think, on the top shelf in the toilet, underneath the anvils. Old Harry will have the key, but I’ve no idea where Old Harry is. On holiday, probably. Beware the steps are broken, too. And slippery. And there’s no light. And there was an oil-spill there recently. You’d better watch out for the hyenas as well. In fact, why don’t you just go away? Unless you’d like some Christmas tat, that is…’

‘A couple?’

Well, there’s no call for them at this time of year.’

‘No call for them? What about all those people with birthdays in December?’

Birthdays? They shouldn’t be doing that!’

‘Well what about those that do?’

‘That’s their lookout, I’m afraid. Should be ashamed of themselves, coming round here in December and having birthdays. Shouldn’t be allowed. What sort of month is December for birthdays, eh? It’s not right.’

So I sent one of my own greetings cards. I send quite a few, actually. It’s not just to save some money, or to avoid hand to hand combat in shops near Christmas. I’m quite pleased with my hand-made cards, usually with small paintings on them. What? Oh, certainly. Yes, I do. No, not very expensive, thank you for asking. Thank you so much.

But then I had to post it, and the cost of that is ridiculous, now. God knows how we can afford to send the Christmas cards.

Ah…we didn’t. I was forgetting, for a moment.

But, I was talking to my wife about that and said ‘I think if we really want to save some money, it’s not cards I should be turning my artistic endeavours to.’

‘No? What then?’

‘Postage stamps. There, that would save us a few quid.’

‘It’s an idea I suppose. Hmm…or, you could just cut out the middleman altogether.’

‘Ah, twenty pound notes, you mean? That’s an idea.’

‘Yes, we don’t want to be greedy. And everyone forges fifty pound notes, anyway.’

‘No, that’s right. I suppose about ten or twelve a day would do us. That’s not greedy, is it?’

‘It would be a good use of your time, I suppose.’

Anyway, I’ve been busy the last few days. Just don’t ask any awkward questions.