Rumours are circulating that Sunday morning is more like Saturday night, than Saturday night.
According to research, more and more people are waking up and thinking, “I could use another drink, let’s cab it to Tesco’s”, and telephoning their friends at 7am, saying things like: “I was talking to a guy outside the club who was saying he needs to stock up on kitchen roll, and he thinks he might be out of pineapple juice.”
Many revellers have picked up flyers earlier in the night claiming that Sainsbury’s will not only match Iceland’s price structure product for product, but that there is currently a 2 for one deal on pine-nuts, when bought with a family size tub of margarine.
Burger on the dance floor
Super clubs are losing out to super markets, as people swap late nights for early mornings, and glow-sticks for bread sticks, drum sticks, and crab flavoured sticks.
These day’s it’s not just about the rush, it’s about beating the rush.
If you are hearing the words, “honey bring it close to my lips”, you are far more likely to be standing by the deli counter at Morrison’s, next to an elderly person, or a well-dressed homosexual couple, than munching disco biscuits and making shapes on your local dance floor.
Amidst cries of “You’ve got the loaf”, and “hungry for the flour”, gurning shoppers are dancing in the aisles, pulling unspeakable faces at each other, opening cans of baked beans with their teeth, and spending hours at the self-checkout, where the beeps per minute count is said to be “mental”.
Having re-popularised dance moves including “stacking the shelves”, “pushing the trolley”, and “big fish, little fish, cardboard box”, the supermarkets are opening their doors to gangs of wide awake ravers, dressed up like the Jolly Green Giant, or Tony the Tiger; with pupils like dinner plates and lank, mangy hair. For after party, read after pastry.
Another demographic eschewing the late night kebab in favour of the early morning Danish is the Cougar; normally to be found stalking the karaoke bars and hotel receptions of the West End after midnight, the Cougar has rightly guessed that a mid-morning jolly to the their local ASDA superstore is the best place to find men struggling to control their primal urges.
Hungover, yet sent shopping by their even more hung-over wives and girlfriends, the men are powerless to resist the hungry Cougars, who stand by the magazine racks, waving admonishing fingers, hoping to intercept an ill judged cigarette run.
Chin Chin or ching ching!
Whilst nightclubs are threatened with closure, the supermarkets are reaping the financial benefits of outrageous and inappropriate purchases that defy logic when sober, but often seem right, or even funny, at the time.
“I’m so hung-over I have literally no clue what I’m buying”, said one man, who had to be evacuated from the frozen meat section, after prising open the lid of a freezer, climbing in, and curling up in the foetal position, using packets of sweetcorn and frozen peas as pillows.
He was later discovered to have bought over 15 different varieties of black forest Gateau, and 6 tubs of Ardennes Pate, claiming he had “just come in for some snacky stuff”, but became over-excited after having his face painted by a gaggle of ravers in hot-pants and high-visibility sweat vests.
Meanwhile, the elderly, long term unemployed, and yummy mummies, who for years have inexplicably done their shopping at the same time as everyone else even though they have nothing to do for the rest of the week, have become a familiar sight at the Ministry of sound and Gatecrasher, stopping to chat for long periods in inconvenient locations, and parking their cars in the disabled spaces.
In other news, I smell of beer and stale fag smoke, and can’t fit all the chicken nuggets and potato salad I have bought into my fridge.