Dried snot and licked fingers

It was the clearly visible thick crust of dried snot glued to the outer rim of her nostrils that first set alarm bells ringing.

The staff in this particular sandwich shop (which shall go unnamed for obvious legal reasons) had always seemed a bit shabby, but up until this point I'd always tried to turn a blind eye. However on the visit I am now alluding to, a couple of months ago, the experience turned my stomach so much that I vowed never to set foot in the place again. And it takes a lot to turn my stomach!

I'd popped out to grab a lunchtime jacket potato and found myself being served by the kind of disgusting specimen that Roald Dahl (second mention for the Great One on the blog this week) wrote books about. Honestly, I reckon some corpses would look more healthy.

And as she handed over my order, I looked down to see she was wearing false nails. NINE OF THEM.

Needless to say when I got back to the office I chucked the spud straight in the bin.

"Why are you throwing your lunch away?" asked a colleague.

When I told him he nodded sagely, and explained that he'd once found "a pube" in a sarnie from the same place.

Why am I telling you this? Well I've always promised that this will be a warts-and-all account of life without the supermarkets, so today I'm going to be talking about the warts.

For the most part, shopping in local shops has been a hugely positive experience, but there are one or two places that have made me shudder.

I had such a busy time at work yesterday that when I got home after my 15-hour shift last night I couldn't face making my pack-up to bring into the office today. Hence I have no lunch and need to get to a sandwich shop, which of course brought the memories of the place mentioned above flooding back.

And unfortunately it's not the only place that's made me want to gip since starting this challenge.

I was in a bakery in Chesterfield a few weeks ago buying bread, and was surprised to watch the lady behind the counter lick her fingers to prise open a plastic bag, then wrap the same freshly-licked and still moist fingers round my loaf.

Okay okay, so I bit of spit is unlikely to cause a major international health crisis, but it didn't half put me off! And if this lackadaisical approach to hygiene is used in full view of the customers, I shudder to think what happens in the kitchens of the outlets mentioned.

Luckily for the most part the shops I've been visiting during my drive to avoid the supermarkets have been clean and welcoming, and I'd like to point out the two places mentioned above are NOT any of the places I've previously mentioned by name on this blog. All those places are lovely.

I'm also certainly not saying that this sort of thing doesn't happen in the supermarkets. But perhaps because they're larger, and most things are so neatly packaged before they reach the shelves, it's harder to see what goes on behind the scenes. Whereas when you're shopping local you actually come face-to-face with the people who are making your food.

Most of the time this is a good thing though. Most of the time the people you meet in local shops are clearly working to some very high hygiene standards, which you can see with your own eyes, and this is reassuring.

Writing this blog has also now put me off my lunch, so at least I can keep working and don't need to make a trip out!