Yesterday Angus and I had to go to Tesco for that weekly ritual known as “Oh my God, there is absolutely nothing to eat in the house, we must take thee to the vendor of comestibles.” About 20 minutes drive away is what feels like England’s biggest Tesco’s, the Queen Mother of all grocery shops. Just across the roundabout from it is what feels like England’s nicest Sainsbury’s, home to the Knickers That Make My Ass Look Good, but yesterday we needed to stop at Marks and Spencers as well, which is attached at the hip to that particular Tesco.
Marks and Spencers is already well kitted out for Christmas.
It’s not even Halloween yet, and I am surprised there isn’t already a queue to line up and soil Santa’ knee. The place was floor to ceiling with Christmas decorations, Christmas wrapping paper, Christmas novelty gifts, Christmas party clothes (in England Christmas parties are assumed to be a dressing up affair. This doesn’t really compute with me as Christmas parties here are also infamous for being places where people get completely sozzled, photocopy their asses under those expensive party dresses, and inevitably have that other kind of affair which leads to an entire year after that of uncomfortable silence when you bump into the coffee machine together. So yeah. Good call on the dressing up at Christmas parties.)
And of course, there were boxes and boxes of Christmas Crackers. Now Christmas Crackers are something that I can really get into. A large wrapped cardboard tube, looking for all the world like the world’s largest Tootsie Roll, is lined on the inside with a small firecracker-like thingy (don’t ask me what it is, I only know it makes a loud popping sound and they are thus banned as in-flight entertainment). When you pull the two ends of the enormous sweet-looking package, it goes off with a bang and releases a paper crown that, for reasons best known to the English, you have to wear throughout the remainder of the meal (psst…just because you are wearing a crown doesn’t make you royalty. It just fucks up your hair). In addition, there’s always some kind of little gift inside, and if you’re willing to pay the good currency, there are good gifts in there.
So speaking of crowns-at Tesco we had finished our vending and I waited outside with the trolley full of food, drink, and of course the 16-roll package of toilet paper that one must have while Angus went back into Tesco for one last purchase. Since Guy Fawkes Day is nigh, fireworks are available everywhere. And, fireworks being as cool as they are, we had to buy some. Tesco being what it is, they sell fireworks but insist you leave the store once you’ve bought them as, really, would you trust a grown-up with a feverish look in his eyes with fireworks in your store?
As I waited outside swigging fresh squeezed orange juice while Angus made his most favorite purchase of the year, I got a text from him.
It read: Prince Harry is in the store.
Cool.
And me waiting outside with a 16-roll economy pack of Charmin.
We live about ten miles away from Sandhurst, which is the Royal Military Academy, now temporary home to both Prince William and Prince Harry as they do their bit for God, England, mankind and the inevitable service record. This Tesco, our largest local grocery shop, is in Sandhurst. So it isn’t too surprising that if Prince Harry is in the mood for a packaged BLT and a six-pack of Budweiser (the Czech stuff, not the nasty American stuff), he’d nip out to Tesco.
Apparently the place was abuzz. People were running around telling where they’d seen him. He’s in the bread aisle! whispers alerted. I thought about that. I pictured him as a Wonder Bread eater (similar to a brand here called Hovis). I wondered-Did he eat his Brussell Sprouts? Was he a Honey Nut Crunch kind of chap, or a Count Chocula? Since he’s the second heir to the throne after Billy, does that mean he splurges on Charmin or use the cheap recycled stuff that feels like you’re wiping with tree bark, or does he get his bum wrap specially flown in from Flemish weavers?
I don’t mind the boy, but I wouldn’t mind giving him a piece of my mind on his hunting activities. I’d also like to give him a smack on the backside of the head for that whole Nazi uniform thing, as I’m pretty sure Prince Charles is not a smack on the back of the head kind of father and a stunt like that deserves a smack. I don’t think the guy’s a Nazi, I just think he has incredibly poor taste. As in-really incredibly poor taste. I’d also remind Harry that Chav is so over, could he please find a new girlfriend, one that can hold her drink?
When Angus came out my period was letting my crotch know that in no way, shape or form would I be making it home without leaking, so while he waited with the groceries I went in to the ladies. Once in there, I replaced said soaked tampon and finished up. Only…the toilet wouldn’t flush. It just wouldn’t. And there was an enormous blood clot in there (thank you, Period Fairy, come again.)
And I didn’t know what to do.
In general I have a public three flush rule. If I try to flush the toilet three times and it no work, I give up (this does not apply if I have had a major private moment. I will keep trying. And if there is a queue for the toilet and I’ve had a private moment in an apparently non-flushable toilet? Oh yeah. I can so outwait you, man.)
But in the ladies’, I suddenly thought: I can’t walk away and leave this. There’s a period clot in the bottom of the toilet. What if Prince Harry sees this? What if he knows that one of his family’s potential subjects lays blood clots? Will I be quarantined? Will they suspect me of bird flu? Will there be a new Magna Carta, one more along the lines of Maxi Flower?
To which I spent the next few minutes desperately trying to flush the toilet.
When it succeeded and removed mine offensive blood clot from mine eyes, I sighed in relief. No bird flu for me, then.
And so it was I left, and never saw His Royal Whatever You Call Him.
But at least it’s nice to know that he mingles with the little people, even if it is to check and see if the melons are fresh.
-H.
PS-many thanks for the Flax Seed recommendations. I have bought them and am happily back to being fish-free.
PPS-colonoscopy scheduled for November 9 now. So…something to look forward to, then.