It's the time of year when the disasters of the season manifest themselves in clearing every supermarket shelf of dubious spices and concoctions, foreign-sounding meat items, cheese from a species of Bulgarian sheep, and a lorry load of disliked Brussels sprouts...
I also have a fear of running out of washing-up liquid around now, and am unable to describe this syndrome - but it is already affecting me more than somewhat!
Choosing a bottle of brandy is always a pleasure, and spending ages peering at the bottom shelf in Waitrose is a worthwhile and pleasurable occupation, but what makes such a decision rely on the Poirot-style inspection of the whole shelf, the eventual choice, and somehow, without looking, a different bottle is picked up, with hardly a glance, and placed lovingly in the trolley? The same happened the other day with some sort of flavoured olive oil!
I am just thirty pounds short of my budget already, and it's still only half-way through December...
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