My intentions are good. So good. But despite this, I’m not dressed in real clothes until 1pm, and even then it’s only because I want to go to Aldi to get the ingredients for the pasta puttanesca or sweet potato and chickpea curry I want to make for dinner (I don’t cook often, but when I do, I like to have options). It’s not going to be as bad as people say it is, surely.
Oh, it is.
Pasta? Chickpeas? Coconut milk? Not fucking likely.
Most aisles are bare of actual food, but are full of middle-aged mums snapping photos of the empty shelves on their phones and artfully cropping out their trolleys, piled high with packets of rice.
I arrive home fuming because I heard a woman pushing a huge shopping trolley of toilet roll and tins chatting into a mobile phone, saying, ‘Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it?’
I try to do some more work from home and mostly fail. Working out the top 20 things to do in Krakow doesn’t feel like a very useful way to spend my time, so I head out again to another supermarket.
After trips to 5 supermarkets in total (Aldi, Sainsbury’s, Co-Op, another Sainsbury’s and M&S), I have managed to find what appear to be the last two tins of coconut milk and last tin of chickpeas in existence. I buy them but decide to make pasta puttanesca tonight.
As I walked home from M&S, limping slightly on an injured foot, I wondered: am I the problem?