Angry from Sainsburys

Yesterday, I got cross. So I'm using this blog as therapy. There are people all over the world who pay anonymous people an awful lot of money to listen to their woes. I have you. And you're free.

So, it was my day off and I went, as usual, to do the weekly shop. And, as usual, I had my one-year-old with me. I managed to get the final parent and child space near to the store. Those things are great, in a way you can only understand if you've dragged a small child from the back of a car park twelve miles away. If you have to park far away with a child, you then have to struggle with them to get a trolley, and put them in the trolley, and then have them scream the car park into oblivion before you even get into the supermarket. The kid's had enough before you've even got to the satsumas. And they're right near the beginning.

I arrived, and was just getting Lucy out of the car and into the trolley, when a woman returned to her car, parked next to mine (also a parent and child space) and drove off. Unless her child is invisible (extremely unlikely, I'd have thought), she had no child. I don't want to sound rude, but she was also fat, and therefore probably lazy. As she drove off she scoffed a sandwich. So, not only is she rude and lazy, she's also dangerous.

A couple of years ago, I wouldn't have given a monkeys about this, but now I am a father, it winds me right up. As do those people (and they do exist) who are forty years old and go shopping with their mother and park in the spaces. No, that doesn't count. You might be parent and child, absolutely technically, but it doesn't count. I don't stub my toe and park in a disabled space, do I? Well, not very often.

I am calmer now that I've shared it with you. Thank you for listening. You're lovely.

Unless you're a fat, lazy, sandwich-munching, parent-and-child-space stealer. Then you smell.

So there.