He stood in front of me defending the territory like a Goal Defence in netball (so I have been told. By girls). He picked up a piece, then a second.

Paw. Paw. Paw.

He moved some more of them out of the way, in order to reach the ones at the back. Paw. Paw. Paw. He picked up two of them, but did not want either of them, so back they went. Paw, and fucking Paw again.

“Excuse me, I think if you look closely there are two in there that you haven’t yet touched.” I interjected.

“I’m sorry? My hands are clean you know.” he responded, somewhat surprised.

“Oh, is that right. Did you ’scrub in’ before coming to the vegetable aisle?”

“Well, no, but chill out mate, it’s just a vegetable.”

I do not like being told to chill-out, it is like waving a Bollywood actress at a Jade Goody. However, even I would find it very hard to come out of fight in a Supermarket aisle, over fresh broccoli, looking cool. So I reluctantly back down.

I do not understand the need to pick up and feel every single item of food before making your decision on which one to buy?

I can understand picking something up, and then changing your mind if it was slightly marked or bruised, but trying to identify the perfect piece of broccoli is like trying to find the perfect politician. Such a thing doesn’t exist. They all have varying degrees of imperfection and unfortunately you have to make do with what is available. Unless of course you go for a different vegetable, like Cabbage, or Sprouts, but I will stop there because this already weak analogy is beginning to crumble around my ears.

Anyway, I do not normally buy pre-packed vegetables, but in this case I made an exception.

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