This lunchtime, with what many would regard as an inexplicable disregard for the elasticity towards the boundaries of perceived conformity, I decided after a great deal thought, that I would do my weekend shopping in Morrison’s rather than my obligatory trip to aisles of Sainsbury’s that I have grown to know and love.

“Why on earth did come to make such a ludicrous decision?” I hear you all cry.

Well you see, Morrison’s have an air hose that actually works and therefore aids me with my ongoing denial that I have a puncture, despite the evidence of a three inch nail that suggests that I am perpetually lying to myself. In my heart of hearts, I know that sooner or later I am going to have to visit Micheldever Tyres only to be informed all the others are nearly as bald as my head, resulting in the parting of approximately £350.00.

So Morrison’s it was and after a confusing battle with a trolley that I was trying to detach with the aid of a pound coin, I wandered into the store and proceeded to meander around like Stevie Wonder finding his way out of the Hampton Court maze.

Morrisons: Thrilling

Anyone reading this who lives and works alone, will know that it is not long before conversations start with one’s self, so as I walked aimlessly around saying “Where’s the cheese, where’s the cheese, where’s the cheese?”  fellow customers could have been forgiven for thinking that I was on day release as part of the Mental Health Act.

When I finally found my bearings, I began to quite like Morrisons; it is strange how your personal perceptions work because I have always been of the opinion that the yellow livery in the name makes it look like a cheap place that would offer nothing more than the simmering potential for violence that I have always enjoyed on rare visits to Asda, Brighton Hill, a supermarket that is twin linked with the Basingstoke & North Hampshire accident and emergency ward.

I was particularly impressed with the vegetable department that had pipes blowing cold air on to them. The fish market and bakery were pretty impressive too, but despite my best efforts, I failed in my quest to find any banana milk shakes for my youngest son who would not hold back with his bitterness towards my failings. The brutal truth is that he will have to man up and learn to spend the weekend suffering with orange Innocent Smoothies as a poor substitute.

The rest of the trip was generally without incident as I spent my time sagely nodding at people I vaguely knew whilst I made my way to the till to be served by a lovely elderly lady who had obviously suffered the misfortune of having her dentures fitted by someone who had been trusted with her on his maiden outing as a dentist, only proceeding to embark on a debacle resulting in the fitting molars and fangs that were all arse about face.

Then it was time for the original reason for my trip and my heart filled with unnecessary warmth as the air hose was lacking the ‘OUT OF ORDER” sing that is now obligatory at Sainsburys. At 10p a minute I decide to throw caution to the wind (or should I say air) and put forty pence in the machine and do all my tyres. This somewhat maverick decision was abruptly ended as I approached tyre number four and my time ran out and I was left to rue my lack of a further ten pence piece in my pocket.

So that was it all done and if anyone from Sainsburys is reading this, you have just lost out on £52.41 all because you have a crap air hose. Yours may be free but that is no help if it doesn’t carry out the simple task of releasing air. I will continue to use Morrisons for as long as the Sainsburys air hose is broken or at least until my tyre finally explodes on the M3. However my calculations are that if I use the Morrisons air hose another 250 times, I would have spent enough money to buy a new tyre. I must take some time out to look further into the economics of my predicament.

As I left the store with my shopping and three inflated tyres, I couldn’t help thinking one thing.

What a tragic individual I have become.