I have started to collect useful information from supermarkets.
Last week, when trudging dejectedly round the aisles, my blink rate dropping by the minute, wondering if they'd put the almond extract in the stationery department for a change, since it wasn't anywhere remotely nearly 'Home Baking', I found myself back at the fresh fruit and vegetables and my gaze fell on a see-through packet of green beans. There was a big red label on the bag that screamed "Warning! These Haricots Verts will soon be re-labelled Green Beans!" Imagine my relief. Suppose they'd re-labelled them "Eighteenth Century
Escritoire With Claw and Ball Feet". Terribly confusing.
I recently spent some time in hospital and a kind friend, knowing that bringing chocolates to a bed-ridden woman with time on her hands would only result in the sort of behaviour that would have her thrown out instantly, violet creams still melting on her night-gown, instead brought me a packet of Sharon fruit. "Serving suggestion on
inside of packet" the label said. Overleaf, it said "Slice and serve." Well thank heavens for that. I was only just prevented from screaming "Nurse! A pestle and mortar, a mandoline and an oyster shucker -and be quick about it!"
Now I'm all for helpful information. My recipes tend to go on for pages because I like to give people useful hints and tips "And when you've separated the egg yolks, put them in a covered bowl and re-decorate the bathroom – those avocado tiles are revolting..." but a joke's a joke.
Are these handy nuggets of information required by European legislation, or has the marketing department got time on its hands and can't bear the thought of white space, even if on the underside of a label? I think we should be told.
I suppose it could be a sex thing. Perhaps, because more women do the weekly shop than men, it is considered essential to put hysterical messages on everything, assuming that the average female shopper is going to have a minimum of two shrieking children in the trolley and possibly a mother-in-law, all exhorting her to buy sweets in the shape of space invaders (and in the case of the mother-in-law, teeny bottles of gin) and will eventually collapse in a heap at the checkout, holding aloft a bag of baby corn and wanly asking the checkout assistant whether they are bananas or kitchen towels.
This doesn't happen in bloke-type shops. I've been in them. I've seen cans that say "This is wood stuff. You know what to do." Most men I've seen in supermarkets are looking for a girl-friend (except possibly that chap I stood behind once who had a basket containing a bottle of whisky, a pair of rubber gloves and some dog biscuits – something that has worried me from that day to this...) and only pick up boxed convenience foods called "Football Food – Guaranteed Not To Spill'n'Stain When the Ref Is A Plonker". I haven't looked on the reverse of these boxes. They probably say, "Suck this while frozen - it will save valuable drinking time." At least that's a genuinely useful tip.
So far, though, the best thing I've seen, though not actually a hint, was a helpful picture, hand-drawn by a keen fish assistant, to illustrate the fact that fresh tuna was available in store. The piscatorial artist had gone to all the trouble of using an attractive range of pastels and – one can almost see the tongue curling round the lower lip in concentration – spent a huge amount of time spelling 'tuna' correctly. Unfortunately, though, it hadn't occurred to the crayon-meister to do a bit of research and the illustration, therefore, though beautifully executed, was of a round, tin-shaped piece of fish.
So in future I'm going turn the tables and be helpful to the shop assistants, that they can see at a glance a valued customer has a query.
I'm going to wear a tastefully-decorated sandwich board that will proclaim, "I am a shopper. Where the pigging hell have you put the almond extract????"
