Normally a trip to the supermarket for me is something of a chore. A chore that needs to be done, yes, but with three children in tow, a chore that frequently drives one around the twist. Between the listening to the Disney CD for the 150th time on the way there, to the dragging kids past the Wiggles trolley they want to ride on the way in, to fighting pester power all the way around the store, it's non-stop effort.
The other day, however, stood out for two reasons: for one, I only had one child, for once - the baby - who is happy enough at the moment (at almost five months) to watch my facial expressions. These are many and varied: frustrated gnashing of teeth as I realise my lovingly-crafted list is left at home on the kitchen table , wincing at the price of individual items, adopting a slack-jawed yokel look at the sheer number of shower cleaners on offer, and a gasp like a dying goldfish when I get the final bill. Pure entertainment for him, no doubt.
But this particular trip was certainly enlivened by a family of French people who were in the checkout queue before us. Two boys, about 10 and eight perhaps, a gruff-looking father, a typically chic looking mother. For some reason the mother in question left her family in line at the checkout and left the store, and it was then the hi-jinx began. To my amazement, I saw the youngest boy grab an enormous plastic spade from a nearby toy rack, sneak up behind his father, and whack him hard over the head, and then dissolve, with his brother, into fits of laughter.
His father did a bit of a Gallic snarl. He then turned back to the checkout operator, before being scraped down his back with a giant plastic toy rake, which ended up snagged into his pants. The boys shot off around the supermarket, laughing themselves sick. A few minutes later (it was a busy day and no-one was moving), one of the boys performed a flying karate kick landing squarely on the father's bum. Shortly thereafter, the youngest boy poked his father between the shoulder blades with a large bottle of lubricant situated nearby (note to Countdown: do you really think people are liberated enough, on average, to stock up on condoms and lube in full view of a line of people at the checkout? If not, why put a giant display there?)
Finally the father had had enough and picked his youngest son up by the seat of the pants, exposing his bottom to the line of shoppers, and dropped him on the floor. It wasn't done with any serious intent and everyone was bent over with laughter at this point, including myself.
