I hate supermarket shopping. It almost always seems to put me in a bad mood, even thinking about it.

V is cooking dinner tonight so I thought I would go and get a bottle of wine. Oh, yes, and some milk.

Now, unlike four years ago, a lot of supermarkets seem to open in Milan on Sundays. When we first got here there were none open. Then, a year or two ago, Esselunga in Viale Piave opened most Sundays. Now Unes near Porta Venezia is also open most Sundays, whilst Esselunga opens every day except Christmas Day. How times change.

I like Unes and they always have some great deals on selected wines.

I walk up the street.

Two elderly ladies walk (amble) in the opposite direction. The pavement is large enough for two people. In the UK, some feet from each other we would already be doing the I-don’t-want-to-knock-into-you dance. Here, they just continue. I stop almost in front of them. It is only then that they make room for me to pass. What the hell is wrong with these people?

I go into the supermarket. Grab a basket. I walk briskly up the aisle past the fresh goods – fruit and veg. Some bloke, having made his selection of lettuce or somesuch thing, backs into the middle of the aisle. It’s just annoying. Then he walks quite slowly. A few moments later he “pulls over” to look at some other veg or salad stuff. I continue to the milk.

After milk I start walking towards the wine. A family of three discuss something in the aisle. I squeeze past them, almost running now as I want out of there.

I pick up some wine. It was nearly €5 but has been reduced to €1.59! And it’s Montepulciano, which I like. I start towards the tills. I go down the aisle with crisps and beer and stuff. A woman, her child and her basket are strategically placed across the aisle making it nearly impossible to pass.

In the UK, a mother, seeing someone coming towards them, would quickly move the child out of the way or move herself or the basket or something – except if the were ignorant council-house type people (white trash to you Americans).

The woman, seeing me coming, does nothing. I really want to accidentally bump into them. I have done this before to which there are cries of outrage. Beats me too!

I squeeze past them. I get to the tills. There is a queue. I wait, willing it to be faster. I put my things on the conveyor. I cannot move from the edge of the conveyor as there is the man in front in the way and I respect people’s personal space.

The guy behind me almost knocks me over in his rush to put his stuff on the little “shelf” before the conveyor. He has to do this because this little old lady, carrying one French bread stick only, is trying to push in!

We move down the queue with the conveyor as it moves. There is a column next to me meaning that only one person at a time can be there. The “lady” and kid attached to the bloke behind push past me to get through.

My turn comes. I go to the end, after the tills, to pack my few items into a bag. The woman is stood there, in my way. Only when I continue to move round does she, grudgingly, move slightly away.

I feel she wants to be “one” with me, she is so close as I pack, pay and move off.

I mutter something as I go, knowing that, if I started, I would be loud and using words I should not. And that would only make me more angry and frustrated with the supermarket experience for today. One bottle of wine and three cartons of milk! Grrr.

I want to kill everyone!