It is  amazing how shopping has revolutionised since, dare I say it, 1994?
Prior to the revolution we used to get shopping lists on crumpled pieces of paper that always started with bread and milk.
Possibly, washing powder also featured. Watch out for Omo – cold water.
Sometimes, the Daily News would also be included – especially if Dad wanted to do the place accumulator at Greyville the next day, Saturday.
He always had a special tip from Bobby – his mate/friend who was actually the barman. You would ignore Bobby at your own risk.
Funny thing is. that Bobby had never been to Greyville, but, boy, he knew those horses.
And the grooms.
Anyway, back to shopping. From crumpled papers, shopping lists upgraded themselves to frantic phone calls.
Then the husbands had to jot down the list: bread, milk, Stay Soft, Omo, cheese and the blue-boxed cigarettes.
Try doing that when you are chatting to Dev, Flip and Vassan on Friday (late) afternoon down there at The Mews. Funnily enough, we always seemed to get it right.
With a bit of help from Mandla of Spar, of course, who seems to have some telepathic connection to your shopping list and adds things to your basket (that you really need but of course you forgot to buy) when you are at the till.
Now-a-days, shopping lists come via WhatsApp.
Now, hell has no fury like a wife whose WhatsApp does not get through to the husband because (i) he was out of signal coverage (probably a lie unless you are at Blackhamperstead farm in outer Dannnhauser) or (ii) his battery life is low and Dev does not have the right charger to charge said battery.
Anyway, once you can see your list on WhatsApp you have to by-pass the trolley guy and then head for the spud section, firmly clutching your cellphone to check your shopping list.
This could spark strange glances from fellow shoppers who always seem to know what they are looking for.
Okay – fight your way through various folk who come to a stand still in the aisles to chat about the weather and tenders and then head for the bread section.
There, the selection is overwhelming – sliced, not sliced, brown, white (oops, won’t meet the quota selection according to Fikila whatshisname), Future Life bread, low GI, high GI and the cheap stuff sold by the guy at the illegal tuck shop somewhere on Union Street.
Okay get home, eventually – damn, forgot the washing powder – and then – my goodness, it is the wife’s birthday.
You forgot that.
Call a friend, get a tender and then – boom – the party will start.