Consumed by trolley rage . . .
I hate you all, writes our Rural Affairs Editor Nathan Rous. Sorry, not you, I meant supermarkets. I hate supermarkets.
I hate you all, writes our Rural Affairs Editor Nathan Rous. Sorry, not you, I meant supermarkets. I hate supermarkets.
I hate them with a searing passion only equalled by seeing Janet Street Porter on the TV, or receiving a call from BT, or opening the door to a guy pretending to be deaf selling pegs for a tenner (I always whisper an offer of a cuppa and if he says 'Love one, mate' I shut the door in his face).
Actually, I hate quite a lot of things: odd socks, Tony Parsons, hoovering, NIMBYs, energy companies, Premiership footballers, vodka and binmen to name but a few.
Yet in order of hatred, supermarkets sit proudly on top of my league table for provoking the real inner rage.
Unless you have already packed your cave in the Stiperstones with supplies and are sitting it out for the arrival of World War Three you will have endured the trauma of shopping in your local supermarket over Christmas.
Even those within ambling distance of Waitrose in Newport will have seen the serenity of their store destroyed overnight as the hordes descended.
