Firstly, I must apologise for my lack of posting this week. (O.K. you couldn’t care less). I’ve been into the last throws of assisting my daughter and her fiancée buy their own property. Believe you me, it will be nigh on impossible for most youngsters to purchase a roof over their heads, unless someone has a word with the mortgage lenders. (If you’re reading this, daughter. A good single malt wouldn’t go amiss).
I digress.
Contracts were exchanged yesterday and it was decided by all, to do a bit of tarting up of the property, ahead of moving in the furniture, goods and chattels, cats, etc., on Saturday.
Right off we went to B & Q to fill up a trolley with all the usual such as paint, pollyfilla, and various other bits of decorating sundries.
Now this what I found bizarre. There was one manned checkout and four self service checkouts. Seeing there was a queue at the manned checkout we scurried over to one of the self service machines. (With some trepidation on my part).
Absolutely no problem. Why?
They bloody supplied a member of staff to do the whole process for us! The only bit my daughter had to do for herself, was insert her debit card and punch in her pin.
Oh well. Life is a puzzle that I’ll never understand.
