Don't go bacon my cart, I couldn't if I pied

Thursday evening came cold and dark, and I made an after work trip to Ealing to visit Mr C. He’d made a list of what he wanted, and after clarifying a few bits and bobs (I wouldn’t want to get the wrong biscuits, or a small bar when only a big one of chocolate would do), I made my way to Morrisons to collect his shopping.

We’d had a debate about where to go, as Mr C seemed to be equidistant between three Morrisons stores, and seemed keen for me to make my trip to a yellow-branded supermarket. Sainsburys, in his words, was too expensive, and he didn’t have a Tesco Clubcard! I had decided to try the Morrisons on Ealing Broadway, and parked my bike outside the store and took the escalators down and treated myself to a trolley.

Going to a new supermarket is always a bit of an adventure, and I ended up getting all my steps in as I tried to work out which aisle and whereabouts I’d find each of the items of Mr C’s list. I met the meat, went past the pasta and oil be lying if I said I didn’t have to go around the store thrice to locate the vegetable oil. Finally, all the items were located (although there was no Kingsmill in Morrisons, so own brand had to suffice), paid for and I was bready to cycle back down with my laden bags to bring home the bacon.

After a slight detour which involved getting locked in to a cemetery in South Ealing, and in spite of my grave ordeal, I made it back to Mr C’s flat. He was overjoyed with his shopping - I’ve seriously never seen anyone so excited to see a packet of instant mash! I left an excited Mr C to finish unpacking his goods (I did offer to help, but he politely declined) and made my way back home.