tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post1322543675111044225..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: One Guy Two CheckoutsKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-90562307596753828242012-09-17T21:22:03.365+01:002012-09-17T21:22:03.365+01:00It's "there're" not "there&...It's "there're" not "there's". One I could forgive. Not two!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-50881216394272735922012-09-16T16:32:55.450+01:002012-09-16T16:32:55.450+01:00Not a problem here. Most register "lines&quo...Not a problem here. Most register "lines" have a shelf of "last minute...don't you just HAVE to have it?" are on either side, physically separating the registers. Think cattle chutes for people. :)hopehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03306622656461205674noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-42513834405783638922012-09-16T11:47:56.642+01:002012-09-16T11:47:56.642+01:00The only supermarket I frequent with any regularit...The only supermarket I frequent with any regularity—that would be a couple of time a month tops—is the Co-operative down the hill and all its customers are well-trained; we know the drill when it comes to queuing. Even though there are three tills it’s rare for more than one to be manned (although since it’s invariably a female shouldn’t that be ‘womanned’?—I digress) and although they are a pleasant bunch I’ve yet to engage in conversation with any of them but then we’ve only been here for ten years so they’re probably just getting used to me; I am an acquired taste. Maybe once a year I venture into a real supermarket—because, honestly there is nothing that super about the Co-op—and it’s usually the Asda in the town centre. Twice I tried out the new DIY-tills and never again; they terrify me! I don’t care if all I have are two or three items I demand to be attended to by a real person even if she refuses to make eye contact and sighs at me because I stick my debit card in the machine the wrong way round. <br /><br />We do all our shopping these days via the Internet. And I mean <i>all</i> our shopping. It’s wonderful. A man comes once a week laden with goodies and all I have to do it redistribute the contents of his carrier bags around our kitchen (or at least those items Carrie assigns to me). There are never any queues online.<br /><br />Several years ago I hired a car and Carrie and I headed off to the Lake District. We had not booked ahead and played everything by ear; very unlike me. Our last stop was Morecambe. I had never been before although one of my earliest memories is of a trip to see the Blackpool illuminations when I was probably three or four. When there we went to see Graham Ibbesson’s statue of Eric Morecambe and I have a photo of me with Eric to prove it; we also bought a replica which sits on the unit above the TV; Eric is one of my all-time comic heroes. Anyway what I noticed was how people formed an orderly queue and waited patiently for their turn to go and have their moment with Eric. I thought: <i>How British</i>. We do love to queue except at bus stops these days. We used to but somewhere along the line all that stopped along with giving up your seat if any lady (not just an elderly one) got on.<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com