My Supermarket Was Selling Sausages at Three for a Pound Today!

Someone I know likes to get value for money when she shops. No names, no pack drill. We'll have no trial by social media here.

But if something’s on offer, she’ll buy it. Doesn’t matter where in the world it comes from.

New Zealand this. South African that. Australian the other. A bargain’s a bargain, in her eyes.

Never a thought for our planet.

Unlike me.

Carbon footprint

“We should think about our carbon footprint more,” I say, unpacking the shopping.

“Yeah?” she answers, hunting through a bag. “Is the Lurpak butter there? Tell me I didn’t leave it at the checkout!”

“The Danish butter, you mean?” I answer.

“Right. Is it there?”

“Here it is,” I say. “Right next to the San Pellegrino Italian sparkling water.”

“Phew!” she says, relieved. “Thought I’d forgotten it. Here, put the wine in the cupboard.”

“Produit de France,” I intone, reading the label.

“What?” she says

“It’s French,” I say. “This wine has come all the way from the south of France.”

“I know it’s French!” she says irritably, passing me the Extra Virgin Olive Oil. From Italy. “I just don’t know why you’re running through a list of European countries. Have you been watching the National Geographic Channel again?”

“Our carbon footprint!” I say. “It’s too big! What about we support the local economy a bit more?”

“What about you do the shopping a bit more often?”

I put the bread in the bread bin. German sourdough. I say nothing.

“Fine,” she says. “Next shop, you’re up.”

The Shopping Mall

So, a few days later I’m in the mall with a grocery list in my pocket.

Someone, not me, has written, ‘Remember — support the local economy!!’ across the top.

Walking towards the supermarket, I bump into Paul, an old work colleague. Haven’t seen him in years.

He looks trim and toned. Retirement suits you, I say.

“It’s all this exercise I’m doing,” Paul says. “I’m walking the Camino de Santiago in a few weeks.”

He’s raising money for a cancer charity. His GoFundMe is through the roof.

Good man yourself, I say. Worthy cause, I say. If it wasn’t for this hip.

Two minutes of chitchat about old colleagues, then he’s got to run. “There’s a big anti-racism demonstration at the City Hall shortly,” he says.

Good man yourself, I say again. Worthy cause, I repeat. If it wasn’t for this other thing I’ve got on.

Less Worthy

I continue down the mall feeling slightly less worthy. Last time I raised money for charity, I huffed and puffed my way through a 5k leg of the Belfast Marathon. That was in 1994. Big whoop.

It still counts. Good deeds don’t have an expiry date, do they?

And this ‘other thing’. It consists of meeting two of my brothers in a pub.

Biological brothers, I mean. Not like ‘You’re my bro, man!’ I’m not cool enough to have a bro.

Beer drinking is on the agenda this afternoon. Football talk is on the agenda. Crap jokes will be exchanged.

Measured against charity hikes across Europe and anti-racism demos, it all seems a bit shallow.

Good Citizen

See, I like to think I’m a good citizen. No, scratch that, I am a good citizen. I pay my taxes. Abide by the law. Vote in elections.

But am I socially active? In my head, I am. Rather, I thought I was.

I’m no Greta Thunberg. I just believed my social activism amounted to more than putting milk cartons in the blue bin.

Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe I just talk a good game.

I steer my shopping cart into the supermarket, resolved to do some serious ethical shopping. Rediscover my social activism mojo.

By the time I’ve finished here, my carbon footprint will be scaled back so much you’ll need a space telescope to view it.

Buy Irish Day

I fly around the aisles examining stuff for its country of origin. Today is Buy Irish Day as far as this citizen is concerned.

Thick, creamy butter from County Kerry, tick. Big Bramley apples from County Armagh, tick. Maris Piper Irish potatoes, of course.

Then I’m at the meat counter. I lift two packets of Irish pork sausages. Sizzling good sausages from just down the road. I drop them in the cart.

I notice a big sign above the counter. Portuguese chorizo sausages are on special offer. Three for a pound while stocks last.

I love chorizo. And that sounds like a bargain.

I examine the Irish sausages. Some deft mental arithmetic later and I’ve worked out they cost about 50p per sausage. Three for a pound is the equivalent of one free sausage every time!

I buy a dozen and put Ireland’s finest back in the fridge.

As I do so, I notice that Spanish Cured Pancetta Slices are forty percent off.

I hesitate for a second. A fraction of a second. A soupçon of a fraction, being honest.

A carbon footprint is one thing.

But a bargain is a bargain.