faces

I sat in the car park at Morrisons, Lincoln, last evening - I couldn't be bothered to walk around another store. We had just traipsed around B&Q and the ASDA outlet looking at toilet seats, voile curtains, lamps and compost etc.etc. Then we decided to eat Mexican so had to collect some of the ingredients.

Anyway, while No.1.son and wife went into the store I remained sitting in the car doing what I do best, people watching. There are really only a few types of people, so I understand, and I suppose given that we are all descended from 6 "Eves" that is not surprising. That seems to fly in the face of the idea of individuality but, of course, it's the detail that makes the difference and the details are infinitely varied. A man went passed with gorgeous hair but as he got closer the proportion of his face in relation to his height and the length of the hair rather spoilt the image. There was the sloppily dressed guy with his eyes looking heavenward who seemed to fit the stereotype of the academic with his head in the clouds. Of course the reality is probably very different and all I am doing is exercising my own prejudices but it makes an interesting past time and beats looking at shelves full of products that I am not allowed to eat or rather aren't good for me. If I am people watching then I am not eating so I pass it off as part of my diet regime!
Categorising people is one thing, confusing it with reality is another. I like to muse on the other lives of the people who pass by, wondering what their mood and motives are. Are they shopping to get away from household tension or simply because they need to replenish stocks. Is it a special meal to impress, placate, buy favour or defuse stressful relationships or because of conditioning? Will the ingredients be chosen for quality or budget, for health or taste - the two should be synonymous but unfortunately aren't!

A couple stroll by, hand in hand, middle aged but still able to express affection, carrying eco friendly bags between them - sharing the load, crusty baguettes poking out like a stockade wall and melons stretching the jute bags to their limit. What kind of meal does that conjure up? Alfresco dining, with a Mediterranean theme. I salivate at the thought of luscious tomatoes drenched in olive oil and lemon, the drippings sopped up by the bread, interspersed with ripe. plump olives and pimentos, and, at some point, a dessert of melon cubes, grapes, strawberries with a syrup flavoured with fresh mint and preserved ginger. I come back from my reverie and shake myself. Too much tv watched I think.
In a rush a pair of women, obviously mother and daughter, overtake the relaxed pair, hugging strawberries and boxes of cereal, thinking of tomorrow's breakfast or embarking on the diet promoted by a current ad campaign? Two meals replaced by cereal and the promise of at least a drop in dress size in a matter of days. If only....

I watch them rushing, ambling, determined, unsure, their faces reflecting the myriad of reasons why we do anything and the needs that drive us. By now my hunger is palpable and I just want my pair to re-appear so we can get home and eat. The desire is overwhelming. I watch my son and daughter in law's faces as they approach the car. If he's been to the cash machine then the meal may be a more strained affair, if she has bought more than envisioned then the strain may make the meal inedible before it's served.