I am trapped. By one of the most important relationships in my life. It has me by the balls. Or the boobs!?! Or something. My captor? Ocado. Ruthless, it goes with me everywhere by virtue of the app. And I add things and add things and add things on the bus, on the loo, in meetings. Always at the back of my mind is the cut-off point for editing my order. WHAT IF I FORGET THE LENOR AGAIN? How will we cope? I once did a transcendental meditation course. A mistake in itself but all I could think about, while I was meant to be soaring to a higher plane – was ‘Are we down to two crates of Evian?’
Ocado is expensive and made more so by the Monopoly Money quality of internet. If you look at organic, fair trade Raw Cacao powder (sugar-free treat, anyone?) in your actual basket and read the actual price tag of £7.50, there is a fighting chance you could feel like a bit of an arse. But when it’s just part of the virtual picture it feels necessary in your vision of your virtual and virtuous store cupboard.
Plus Ocado feeds my bunker mentality tendencies. God forbid I should run out of loo paper. Unimaginably awful even through there are three Co-ops within a five minute radius. So, yes, I will order four packs of 18 and there will be nowhere to store them. And I clearly need some back-up Dijon. And my cloths are beginning to look manky. And – oooh – they sell Sabatier. Result? Two hundred quid.
So why do we persist when it’s a bit rubbish not to be able to squidge-test the avocados and peaches? It’s not laziness because that would be catered for by Tesco.com or Sainsbury’s.com. It’s a terrible middle-class vision of how I see my life: If I admit that I can’t really afford Ocado at 40 then WTF am I doing? What am I worth? Who have I become? Am I going backwards? See….the bastard has me good and proper.