Supermarkets

We all use supermarkets, don”t we? They are enormous and charmless.They can buy in bulk and consequently all the local shops can’t compete and and they have to close. And I miss the friendly faces.

Of course the supermarkets sell their goods a lot cheaper and shoppers love them.

But they are temples of destruction. Why are they so? Not just the little business that go under but the potential of bringing A.E. departments to bursting point. Why do I predict this?

Supermarket trollies. We’ve all seen them whizzing around piled high with food and the owner on a mobile phone. haven’t we? But have you ever had to leap out of the way when one of these juggernauts bears down on you? If you were a lorry driver on the mobile the police would slap him in prison. But these buggers are never touched.

So I have a simple solution. At the end of each supermarket aisle there should be traffic lights. So normal basket shoppers can cross safely.

But, of course, it would cost money and for these poverty stricken supermarkets might have to shell out and then they’d be FORCED to put their prices up. Any excuse.

Then maybe the local shops would be able to open up and we’d all be happy.

Dreaming

A dream. Well they’re looking for a new Dr Who. What about this: a very old, retired Time Lord trying to get a hip replacement. Then he finds himself in the Tardis. The wrong button has been pressed. He’s totally confused, doesn’t know what to do. Fortunately there is an assistant who helps him to fly the Tardis to sunnier climes where his aching bones can be eased. They’re attacked by Sun Rays. The only thing he’s got in his pocket is a pencil.It could be fun having a dopey old man trying to come to terms with the terrifying stuff he’s confronted with. What about dopey old me? Dreaming.

Or back to EastEnders. Say I went back as the twin brother of Joe Macer ( who fell out of a first floor window after confessing to Dot that he killed his wife Pauline Fowler), who’s corporate lawyer, and demands to get back the property that Ian’s living in. Dot would have kittens thinking that Joe had come back from the grave and Ian would have a nervous breakdown and my lawyer would become the pariah of Albert Square. That’d be fun.

The trouble with dreams is you always wake up.