Supermarket thuggery and mint sauce addiction

I'd suggest that I'm currently snared in a burgeoning tornado of psychosis - and it's worrying me, not hugely, but there is simply no accounting for the events which transpired Thursday last.

I was in Waitrose. Why? Because if you are the proud member of a Waitrose loyalty card - a My Waitrose card - you are afforded the right to a free hot drink. Now, while I'll usually plump for the latte and quite reasonably question my supposed heterosexuality in the process, for one reason or another coffee of any description was off la carte today so I made do with a tea and garnished the fucker with a pair of Tate and Lyle sachets.

And so after a few sips I was now ready to proceed with the shopping.

I don't have a shopping list - I never do. Drawing up shopping lists, you must surely concur, is on a parallel with flower arranging, moisturising, and splaying one's buttocks for the grotesquely-hung Gambian gentleman you met online. But the components of the evening's meal were etched upon my brain and simply read: food, beer, mint sauce.

Don't ask me why, but mint sauce has recently become a huge part of my life. Mint sauce sandwiches, mint sauces on toast, mint sauce on crackers, mint sauce on its fucking own. * I will presently share a recipe for those unable to buy it.

Having located the mint sauce aisle - for that's what it is, everything else down there may as well not exist, I mean, first press olive oil for 50,000 quid can quite rightly get to fuck - I made to pop one of the emerald jars of goodness in my basket. Yet my hand slipped and I missed it. I temporarily lost the motor-skills to be able to pick up a fucking jar. It teetered boisterously on the shelf before eventually losing its footing and falling towards the floor.

I did nothing. I just watched that jar of mint sauce plunge to the ground with nary a flinch. Seconds, minutes, hours appeared to pass before it hit the deck with a resounding SMASH and huge globules of the sacred condiment splashed onto many floral dresses and the jeans of my fellow mint sauce aisle frequenters.

This was a masterful display of supermarket thuggery - and I didn't even get arrested.

I'm off to Sainburys to fuck up their dairy section.

Mintser

i would have thought a dollop of withnalls "special" sauce would have been more to your liking.

and we thought he was a saucy penniless peddlar when truth minted, i forsee a candle lit supper with godfey

Did you manage to get the mint sauce out of your floral dress ?

Mint sauce? Poof!

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Originally Posted by taxexile

would have thought a dollop of withnalls "special" sauce would have been more to your liking.

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Is he still making the wank juice?

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Originally Posted by david44

i forsee a candle lit supper with godfey

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Godders! Godddders! I forgot about that fucking nitwit.

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Originally Posted by nigelandjan

Did you manage to get the mint sauce out of your floral dress ?

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It took an age to remove. My best frock too.

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Originally Posted by Stinky

Poof!

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But you have caught me in a transitional stage. I was bang into horseradish a month back. Real manly stuff is the radish.

^ Ok fairs fair, if your into horseradish I recant my previous slur

Mint sauce, otherwise known as kiwi after shave for the romanticly inclined

If your full scale attack of Sainsbury's dairy section was a success may I suggest a sneak attack on Aldi's nick nak section. You could slowly peruse items and move them about stealthily jumbling the display until nothing of any use can be found.

I've been here long enough I'm missing the most bizarre things.