Andy Hawthorne

I popped to the local shop, not expecting trauma…

I had an idea.

A voice in my mind said I should do this. A blog. Get your thoughts out there, the voice says. As if the world is sitting around, gasping for my opinion on the price of tea.

Bugger.

But I’m here now. In the kitchen. The laptop’s open. Mary’s out at work, so it’s just me and this blinking line. A cursor, they call it. Like it’s cursing at me. Which it is, to be fair. Blinking. On. Off. On. Off. Daring me to write something.

So I will.

I was in the local shop today. For a few bits. Milk. Bread. A packet of Custard Cream biscuits for the empty tin. The good ones. You have to get the right ones or there’s ructions.

And I ended up in the yoghurt aisle.

I don’t know how. It’s a maze in there. You go in for a pint of milk and you come out with a wetsuit and a set of German spanners.

Anyway. The yoghurts. The state of them. There used to be two kinds. Strawberry. And… the other one. Plain, maybe. Now? It’s a wall of madness. A wall of notions.

Greek style. Icelandic style, which they call Skyr. What the fuck is Skyr? Sounds like something you’d shout if you stood on a piece of Lego. SKYR!

And the flavours. Coconut and Chia Seed. Chia. It’s not a pet? You grow it on a little clay head? Now we’re eating it. With coconut.

A fella beside me. Young fella. Skinny jeans. A haircut that looked like it was attacking his own head. He picks one up. “Ooh, kefir,” he says to his girlfriend. “Probiotic.”

Probiotic.

I wanted to grab him. And say this.

—Listen, pal. The milk sat out for too long. Someone threw a bit of fruit thrown in. Stop pretending you’re a scientist.

But you can’t say that. People get proper upset.

I just stood there. Looking. Pomegranate and Acai Berry. Rhubarb and Custard Crumble Flavour. It’s not even rhubarb and custard. It’s the flavour of it. It’s a memory of a thing. A ghost in a plastic pot.

I saw a fella from around our way, old Jimmy. He was looking at them too. Just staring. Lost. Like a dog would look if you showed it a card trick.

I went over to him.

–Alright, Jimmy?

–Ah, Andy. Baffled, mate.

He nodded at the yoghurts.

–The wife sent me for a strawberry one.

–Ah.

–I’ve been here ten minutes. I think I’m going mad. Is that one strawberry? Or is it ‘Summer Berry Medley’? Is a medley a strawberry?

He looked distressed. A man on the edge. Broken by dairy products.

I found one for him. It just said ‘Strawberry’. Plain as day. Hidden behind a ‘Salted Caramel and Pretzel’ one. A pretzel. In a yoghurt. I give up.

Jimmy looked at me. Like I’d just saved his life.

–Jesus, Andy. Thanks. I owe you one.

And he shuffled off, clutching it like a winning lottery ticket.

I just got the milk and the biscuits and went home.

That’s my thought for the day. That’s the blog. The world has gone mad with notions, and you can see it all in the yoghurt aisle.

Right. That’s that then. Mary will be home soon.

Now. Dare I post this thing? A few hundred words about yoghurt? It won’t entertain anyone. But fuck it, it’s harmless.

Ah, sod it. Publish.

Fine.