|Guess who? At Mèze, Mediterranean coast|
Done with Intermarché, Carrefour, Super U and Leclerc, and back to Tesco (it's a mere seven-minute walk away from our Hereford home).
Immediately we're fratching: Marmite is either in this aisle or the one adjacent, but it's in neither. "Then you'll have to ask," says VR grumpily. Strange how reluctant we are to exercise this ultimate sanction.
But I've spotted three Tesco suits engaged in an on-the-floor pow-wow. I raise my eyebrows and I become the cynosure of three pairs of ambitious eyes. "Shall I take you there?" says one suit I've seen getting out of a BMW a week or so ago. He strides off and I've difficulty keeping up. "Marmite's to be found close to the jams," he says, and I can see some spreadable logic there.
He adds, "And jams are close to sugar." I didn't know this. We enjoy a little amiable argy-bargy about the way Tesco re-allocates shelf space for certain items ("It keeps customers on their toes," says he. "Which is not where you want to be when you're close to eighty," I riposte.)
Back with VR I suggest Tesco might do well to publish a policy document about where things are in its stores. "Especially stuff that isn't bought frequently, like Marmite," I say. "I mean twice a year and you tend to forget."
"Twice a year!", she says, still residually grumpy. "More like once every four years. Unless Ian (our grandson) visits."
I didn't know that either.