We are tired. With glazed expressions, we buffet round the supermarket in the evening after work, hands bristling with packets and boxes, Edwardsupermarkethands.
We didn't think we needed a basket; in fact we do, but we can't be bothered to get one now.
Behind us in the queue, a businessman in an expensive navy topcoat restlessly moves from foot to foot, occasionally bumping into us; he is clearly not used to queueing and his impatience burns our backs.
The fluorescent lights are piercingly bright, and make us buy things in coloured packets that we don't really want or need.
We just want to have 'done the shopping' so we can go home and have a cup of tea.
Oh yes we do.