I went to the supermarket today and felt decidedly old. I went to get butter, we usually get the supermarket's own brand rightly or wrongly, because it's the cheapest, usually 92p or so. I was shocked to find it had gone up to £1.10. That on top of finding peppers costing 80p each. It's scandalous.
But what made me feel old was the amount of time I spent gassing about it to an eldery couple in the produce aisle.We regaled each other with tales of galloping inflation and the things we have stopped buying, not necessarily because we can't afford them, but because we refuse to 'pay that kind of money'.
We admitted to each other that we've started growing things like tomatoes, peppers and chillis ourselves because, well they just don't taste the same as they used to do they? And when you can get them all the year round they must be stored in huge chillers somewhere for months on end, that's when they lose their flavour. I realised I'd somehow by-passed my dad and gone straight to sounding like my grandad.
My one consolation was that unlike my elderly aquaintance I wasn't wearing a cloth cap. That reassured me that I'm still too young to go down that particular road yet. The downside being that cloth caps look quite trendy on people below a certain age, which I'm well above now. Oh well.
The final scary moment was when I got to the checkout. Stood there with my basket in hand I suddenly realised I was doing something which I've sworn for years I would never do. I was stood there whistling. It was quite a low whistle and I can't remember what tune it was, if it had a tune. But I was whistling. That did scare me.
On the way home with the shopping I consoled myself with two thoughts. At no point in my moaning with other customers did I say: "Have you heard about her at number 30?". And my whistle didn't have that really annoying wobble that is a true sign that the ageing process is taking its toll.
I suppose we should all be grateful for small mercies. But £1.10 for butter? Not right that!