Hurdling pensioners

A couple of questions spring to mind this lunchtime: Why are old folk so slow? And why are they so fascinated with garden centres?

I've just taken my first break of the week and dashed out to Green and Brown, the brilliant local and artisan food specialist in Derby. Work has been just crazy this week, we've had the jury come back in one of the biggest trials we've ever dealt with (I'm sure you'll all know which I mean because it's been all over the news for the past three days so I won't go into it here) so I've been working loads of overtime and I've not had chance to get out to the shops at all.

But for the first time today I actually feel in control again, so I nipped out for 20 minutes at lunchtime to grab a few essentials.

Unfortunately my idea of making it a quick trip was foiled as soon as I stepped out of the car. Green and Brown is situated right at the very back of Derby Garden Centre, in Little Eaton, so I found myself running a gauntlet of pensioners as I battled to get through the rows of potted plants and watering cans.

Perhaps its the promise of a slightly warmer weekend, but the garden centre was quite literally crammed with flat-capped old men and grey-haired grannies in quilted jackets, all shuffling into each other and travelling at the sort of pace that would leave snails sniggering into their shells.

They seemed to be moving in packs, creating impenetrable silver jams in the aisles.

I bobbed frustratedly behind a one small herd of pensioners, before diving off on a rat-run down a row of slug-pellets, only to find myself thwarted by an elderly couple propping each other up right in the centre of the aisle.

Hurdling the chap's walking stick, I made for the back of the shop but was once again halted by a gaggle of grannies cooing over some geraniums.

By the time I finally reached Green and Brown I felt like I'd been running some sort of OAP obstacle race.

Luckily the trip was rescued by the sheer loveliness of Donna, the lady who was working behind the till. We chatted about the freezability of the shop's veggie bombs and she treated me to an entertaining anecdote about when her kids emptied her bank cards out of her wallet and she ended up red-faced during a shopping spree when she found herself unable to pay. It was a nice non-work related chat that helped to remind me why shopping local is so much pleasanter than swearing at those stupid self-service check-out machines in the supermarkets.

And hurdling pensioners is excellent cardiovascular exercise too!