Nobody has ever given me a nickname, so you may as well call me Chris Waters.
I am co-founder, copywriter and part-time accountant at Condiment, a fabulous creative agency in Ipswich.
Why is it that if you play an acoustic guitar and a harmonica, like Bob Dylan or Neil Young, people think that you’re a musical genius?
Strap a pair of cymbals to your knees, though, and people cross the street to get away from you.
Threepiecemealwithfriesthankyouverymuchenjoyyourmealbye.
Good old KFC prove that it’s certainly not what you say, but the way that you say it.
It was great, thanks.
We got back yesterday, and popped into Sainsbury’s today to pick up a few bits of food. We’re off to a wedding tomorrow, so when we noticed a Pizza Express voucher, we thought it would make a nice gift - y’know, a meal on us, so to speak.
Presenting our gift voucher to the gormless-looking lady at the checkout, we were greeted with an unsurprisingly gormless facial expression followed by a panic-stricken look around for help. It came in the form of a boy who was probably just about to start puberty. As he unhurried over, Tweedle-Dee at the checkout asked:
Do we even sell these?
No, of course you fucking don’t, love. I just want to pay twenty quid for something that I’ve brought into the shop myself. There’s a credit crunch on (so we’re told every day) and I thought that J. Sainsbury PLC could do with a booster.
Welcome home.
Please note: this rant isn’t about people who work in Sainsbury’s or any other supermarket - just that silly woman. My mother works in Sainsbury’s, you see.
