When I twisted my key in the lock, the wrong way because that’s how it opens for some reason, I was expecting to be alone except for the dog who usually comes to greet me, contorting his spine around so that I can’t fail to miss the presentation of his wagging bottom hitting against the wall and maybe the odd cat sprawled on the bottom stair or looking hopefully to be fed.
When I opened the front door, the mat got caught up with what the dog had left of the post and the degree of force required just to get into my own house made my entrance even more fraught than the trip around the supermarket. It was not so much the trip around the shop that had been problematic as the journey through the checkout. I must be pretty dim. I have only just worked out that someone else must have worked out that a trolley full is equal to the length of rubber on the conveyor belt. Therefore, if you pile your trolley up with BOGOF’s, especially if you are without child (although you can always get the aforementioned child to use bread as pillows) or if you start stacking things underneath or hang them on that very useful hook on the front then you will not, repeat not, fit everything on to the checkout at once. Unless you are an Olympic sprinter with the co-ordination of a jet fighter pilot, it is unlikely that you will manage to make it through smoothly and you should not look at the people in the queue behind you.
When I finally got through the door, I thought I was meeting a stranger but someone had left the coat cupboard open and it was just my reflection in the mirror.