I’ve been delayed from chronicling today’s monologue due to lunching with mum; followed by the purchase of Mrs S senior’s comestibles. Not that, I hasten to add, mater refers to her major weekly food shop as purchasing comestibles.
To be honest, I’ve never met anyone who refers to the buying of provisions as purchasing comestibles……. In fact, I’m struggling to think of anyone I’ve previously engaged with who uses the expression they’re intending to buy provisions.
The vast majority of individuals whose acquaintance I’ve made throughout this capricious experiential journey, simply refer to the act of a food trek in the terms of “I’m going to Sainsburys.”, “I’m going to Tescos.”, “I’m going to Asda.” or “I’m going to Morrisons.”
Unless of course they intend to patronise Lidl, Aldi or Dev’s Convenience Store……. In which case they’d probably utter “I’m going to Lidl.”, “I’m going to Aldi.” or “I’m going to Dev’s Convenience Store.”
That being said, if they’d have intended to shop at Spar, Waitrose or……… Ok, ok, you get it!!…. No need to shout!!
If you didn’t nod off after paragraph three or been tied up on a phone call with the Samaritans as a consequence paragraph four, maybe you’re wondering why I choose to utilise more erudite wording in my narratives than I do orally in my day to day existence.
The simple answer being I like to challenge myself with the more syllabled locutions when blogging – Deeming the adroit journaling to be of a far greater challenge than the everyday language my peers and I ordinarily utilise. A strategy pursued to impart greater literary accomplishment to the prose.
Some may deem my approach as pretentious bollocks. However, I prefer to label it more as paradoxical self-indulgence on my part; delivered in the most part with tongue very much in cheeks.
However, I make no apologies for my egotistic flights of whimsy. After all, as 18th century French philosopher Voltaire taught us in his satirical poem La Pucelle D’Orleans (The Maid of Orleans) “Illusion is the first of all pleasures.”…….. Now that previous sentence is what you call pretentious bollocks!!
Mater (Maggie) and me arrived back home with her comestible acquisitions (self-indulgent not pretentious bollocks, remember!) at around 3pm. We lunched at Costa on the food mezzanine where we exchanged amiable banter (none of which included the word comestibles) and divvied up the money mum’d picked from people’s pockets on the walk along from the car park.
At lunch I feasted on an egg mayonnaise sandwich with reduced fat mayo and extra fat albumen. Mum, who’d earlier dined on a pasty at her community centre coffee morning, settling for a pack of Costa ginger biscuits. Not the most wholesome meal she’s ever eaten, but with me doing tea tonight it possibly won’t be her most offensive tasting meal of the day!
After lunch we followed our usual itinerary of comestible/food purchasing from M&S, followed by the final destination of the Sainsburys shop for the big shop.
Ordinarily we also call into Clinton’s for the multitude of greetings cards Maggie sends every week. However, today was a rare occasion where she’d not got some random event to celebrate in some form…… Not unless within the next few days she finds someone who observes Friday’s ‘Plant A Horse Chestnut Tree Day’ or Sunday’s ‘Shark Attack Recovery Day’.