Next time you hear the beep...

Round where I live there is a local, well organised and commendably mobile campaign group against a recently proposed un-named large supermarket operative building one of their large supermarket operations on some wasteground nearby.

I, too, am against a supermarket being installed. Not that I am for having a large wasteground either. Each summer, travelling amusements come and set up there, not looking out of place on an episode of Scooby-Do. I went to it a few summer's ago and, having fully wandered around the site, got on the ride that looked the most health and safety certified [that basically boiled down to not one being controlled by a man wearing a lumberjack shirt]. The very next day the local press reported that someone had died on it. They were thrown from the cup and saucer into the central pivot shaped like a teapot. Such was the velocity, they were killed instantly. What a way to go. That is a true story.

Although a supermarket would turn the wasteground into something that does not attract funfairs, I am against one being put on it. Because the less reasons to have old people in supermarkets the better.

I was in a supermarket this week. I only had a couple of items in the basket: processed ham, 4 rolls and that. Enough to keep me going for a day but really - looking down at the basket - it was giving me a feeling that, having gone to all the effort of going to the Supermarket in the first place, I should have got more, you know? Having that idea, waiting in the queue, that I should have made a list - and that idea was tinged with the feeling of regret. Anyway, that was the point where I was at - waiting in the queue at the checkout.

"Please put the item in the bag"

As I say, I only had a few items. Up to this point, I had scouted a few checkout queues. Many had trolley-fulls to get through and the "10 items or less" kiosk was way off at the far end with a queue for it well up the refrigerated aisle. As luck would have it, I settled on standing behind a little old lady, who had just unloaded her basket of tinned fruit, half-pint of milk, a couple of long vegetables and a half-loaf of bread on the conveyor belt. I stood behind her as she watched the checkout girl put through her shopping. And I stood behind her as she started to tell the checkout girl about how she bought a scarf for the winter the other day. Oh, what a lovely scarf it is too. Really thick and warm. It is sort of blue and green. The only problem with it is it is made of that hairy type of wool and it caught on a necklace and broke the chain. Anyway it was really lucky because someone saw it fall off, they were sitting behind at another table, otherwise the necklace would have...

Sorry, excuse me, apologies for interrupting. I am not one for using foul and abusive language. Especially so when talking to an older person but JEEZUS F**K! If you want to talk about "things" then go to your local grocer! Some of us just want to have the briefest of faceless transactions of money for goods - that's why we are here, now, in the Supermarket - all this, all this around you is the future and the future doesn't want to hear a meandering tale about buying a winter garment and if you can't cope then it's time for you to shop at various "mongers".

I know, I know. If I wanted a truly inhuman supermarket experience then I could have gone to one of those "self-checkouts". But I don't trust them. I am pretty certain that is how the cylons started on Caprica.

And then we got to the crux. I saw her give a wrinkly grin to the girl at the checkout when she said, "That is £4.45, please" and we both knew just what was coming next. "I"ll see if I have the exact money for you, love". 3 minutes later, having rummaged through the penny purse (twice) - "I don't have the 5p. I'll have to give you a fiver".

Three words: Chip and Pin! You are not at Sandra's Fish Van anymore! The supermarket, literally, has bags of change.

Having got through the adventure story of the hairy scarf, the Orwellian drama of the change purse the little old person then started to pack her carrier bag. Taking another age to open it as her fingers were so old that her fingerprints had completely smoothed out. She was totally frictionless. "I am sorry for holding you up, son" she offered up while the plastic bag slipped out between her palms.

"It's absolutely fine, I'm in no hurry. And I hope you won't need that scarf too much this winter!" I waspishly retorted through a warm smile of frustrated incredulity.

Of course, not all old people should be tarred by the same brush. Other old souls distrust the supermarket even while in it [which makes you think they got lost, you know, because they are so terribly old], complaining about the problem they are simultaneously compounding. They talk of the supermarket killing the old fashioned, small and friendly shops on the main street, while pushing a trolley full of multi-pack Seabrook Sea-salt crisps and frozen pies.

I have heard a china cabinet of old people [for that is the collective noun] in the cleaning and detergents aisle, as I have gone by, stating their disgusted at there being too many cleaning products on the shelf. I have heard one of them, as I mosey on through, insist on getting bread from the storeroom because he knows "for a fact, the fresh stuff is kept off the shelves so customers can't buy it". Yes, because that is basically what supermarket economics is, keeping a whole load of fresh produce out of sight until it goes a bit stale and then put it out onto the shelf. And then they laugh at you buying it. Oh how the supermarket laughs. You lunatic.

Don't get me wrong, I am not saying, particularly, a ban on old folk from supermarket shopping is the direction to take. I am just suggesting that supermarkets are established up a mild gradient. As a deterent. So, I believe, the case made is clear. No to more supermarkets. Yes to the local market. That way, the older generation can be happy getting soap measured out on scales and meat from jars sealed in petroleum jelly [or however these local shops work] and chatting about the time of day to a lady who doesn't have a name badge - while I am able to purchase my processed ham, 4 rolls and that, relatively hassle free.

One may argue that I could simply adopt an online supermarket delivery shopping habit. This would mean I would have needed no vested opinion about old people in supermarkets in first place. And that would be a valid comment. But I know for a fact that supermarkets regularly substitute the bottle of fizzy juice you clicked on with a bottle of carbonated juice that is going flat, then leave the crate, ring your doorbell and run away.