One of those little supermarkets right by the bus stop will do, I think. I reach the nearest shop a bit breathless, push my way timidly inside and pick up a battered wire basket. Then I hover for a bit, watching a woman moving along the shelves just in front of me, but it seems to be done just like it's done in England. So I pick up two loaves of crusty bread, one white and one brown, then I get some eggs, cheese, and bacon and a big box of tea bags. Sill thinking about breakfast (I'm ravenous) I get strawberry jam, butter, apples and bananas. After that I'm a bit stumped, but I remember the spaghetti and put a couple of tins of tomatoes and some onions into my basket. I'm by the tiny deli counter now. The stuff displayed there looks delicious; the girl serving it looks sulky. Still, she's only my age. I ask for olives, ham, yogurt.
On the wine shelves, I can hardly believe how cheap it is compared to home. I get two bottles of the third cheapest red (to go with the spaghetti), then I cram a cucumber and a large lettuce with real earth on its roots on top, and head for the check-out.
