Smellmycheese's Blog

Archive for the ‘shopping’ Category

I sent my first real letter of complaint today (well, email) and thought I would share it all with you. Usually I just bitch and moan on here so this is quite an achievement. Names have been changed for the purpose of this blog post (very clevery, I’m sure you’ll agree) but otherwise this is what I sent word for word.

To whom it may concern,

Hello. I have been using your Headingley store for many years now (although it has not always been a Bainsburys, the staff have remained mostly the same) on an almost daily basis (as it is two minutes from my work place) and in all the time I have been visiting I have had the same complete lack of any kind of customer service from one particular member of staff. This member of staff’s name tag was ‘Bangela’ yesterday (I haven’t bothered to check previously as it’s only just got to the point where I’ve really had enough and have decided to complain.) I assume this is therefore her name but I guess she could have been using someone else’s name tag.

Bangela will literally not speak to me when serving me. Not one word. I’ve tested on several occasions whether if I don’t say anything either, anything at all will be said. No, it won’t.

To paint a typical picture for you, I went in the store yesterday and the day previously and took my items to the cigarette kiosk where she served me. I placed said items on the counter. No ‘hello’, no smile, nothing. She then didn’t tell me the final amount, she just sort of looked at the till display. I gave her my money, she took it, gave me my change, and not a word was said throughout the whole transaction, no ‘thank you’, no ‘goodbye’, nothing. This was the case on both days and every time I’m served by her;  a bit like a very quiet Groundhog Day, if you will.

Now I know she CAN speak, as she finished her conversation about her son with her colleague before she started serving me in silence.

I also know this is not a one-off. Every time she serves me, which must total thirty times or more over the years, it is in complete silence and with a faint look of disgust on her face.

I don’t know this lady personally and have never done anything to offend her that I am aware off.

Whether she treats all customers like this or if it’s a personal vendetta, based on who knows what, I also don’t know. But I am pretty sure I have seen her say at least ‘thanks’ to other customers.

I’ve worked in bars, shops and supermarkets. It’s really not that hard to at least say hello and thanks. I don’t want a cuddle and a kiss, I don’t even want a conversation. I just don’t want to feel as though I might be invisible or as though I am a terrible person for attempting to purchase a packet of Bnack a Backs.

This lady makes shopping trips a bemusingly depressing experience and I am tired of it.

I’ve done nothing to deserve such ignorant treatment and neither have most other shoppers, if indeed they are receiving it. I can speak to the store manager as well but I have avoided doing so to date as I’m sure it will make future shopping trips even more unpleasant.

Please can you let me know what you are able to do to help me with this?

Thank you,


Hi blog readers,

Apologies for the lack of action on the blogging front for some time. No reason, I’m just a bit rubbish.

I like to imagine you’ve all been sitting at home since I last blogged, constantly hitting refresh on smellmycheese as you weep brown, crumb-filled tears onto your naked chests.

Crumb-filled because you’ve taken to comfort eating Sainsbury’s own Bourbon biscuits (40p for loads) in the absence of a new blog post from me to brighten up your day, and naked because I like to imagine you’re all fit men and, well, how else will I see fit men’s naked chests on a regular basis other than in my MIND? Well, the internet for one. But that’s not the point. Moving on…

Unfortunately, I am only too aware that two of my most avid readers are in fact my mother and my sister. Neither of whom are fit men.

But hey, at least I’ve got an active imagination. And that’s got to count for something in these turbulent economic times. Right?

Speaking of which, money’s a funny old thing, isn’t it? I was involved in a lively debate just the other day regarding a bag costing over half a grand. That’s right. A bag. One of those things you put other things in. For what equates to just under half a month’s salary for most people on an average wage and a month’s rent for many others.

Now I’m not casting aspersions on anyone here; people can do what they want with their own money. Whether that’s spending it on things to put other things in, things to put feet in or things to put feet and the things they’re in as well as things to put other things in, in. If you’ve lost me (and I can’t imagine how you could have to be honest) – things to put feet, shoes and bags in = cars and houses.

So yeah, who am I to judge? (Someone who doesn’t have much money, obviously, but that’s beside the point.)

Jennifer Love Hewitt vajazzles her va-jay-jay apparently. I vaj-don't.


Sometimes these conversations make me wonder if I am a real girl after all. Perhaps I’m a bit like Pinocchio but still all wooden. And instead of a real boy I want to be a real girl (only I don’t; it sounds expensive.) 

Evidence for why I may not be a real girl is as follows:

I enjoy getting dressed up to go out as much as the next girl, but I could not imagine spending more than £50 on shoes or a single item of clothing. Not when George at ASDA exists and sells kick arse jeans for £12.50 (seriously, they are my new best discovery and I’m determined to spread the word).

As for a bag – £30 limit (and for that price it better come with a free matching vibrator, or at least a Curly Wurly). It’s going to spend much of its short lived existence, before I lose it, on the floor of a beer garden getting ash flicked on it and beer spilt on it, so there’s pretty much no point in missing out on meals for two months in order to purchase it.

As for beauty treatments, here are my credit crunch-busting alternatives:

Eyebrow threading – I can only imagine this involves shaving your eyebrows off and then threading false ones back INTO YOUR FACE. Buy some tweezers for 99p from Wilkos instead and avoid looking like a Raggy Doll.

Manicures – simply chew your nails down until they bleed a little bit and then paint them yourself with Tippex like you did in school. The white of the correction fluid will mix with the red of your blood to create a lovely baby pink hue - bringing you bang up to date with this season’s ‘back to the cradle’ trend.  

Bikini waxing - Use a razor. The rash will fade in time. And if it doesn’t, see below.

Vajazzles (Google it) - Get some Pritt Stick and glitter and get creative at home! You can use the leftovers to add a lovely, personalised touch to this year’s home made Christmas cards.

Facials – stop being vile.

So, there you go. My post turned out to be about money saving tips and distasteful innuendo (although that last bit was to be expected to be fair. I’m nothing if not consistent.). Martin Lewis move over!

If you’ve got any top money saving tips, do feel free to share them. As long as they’re funny and preferably if they’re verging on offensive too.

Ta ta campers. And remember, anti ageing cream will not stop you getting old, but excessive drinking might.


image cred

The general elections are looming and, as a nation, we appear to have bent over in reluctant submission in preparation for a Tory government, fed up of Labour’s style of loving after thirteen years.

Personally, I’m not overly excited about the prospect of a country run by a man who wants to overturn the ban on fox hunting (good to see where David Cameron’s priorities lie as we struggle out of a global recession) and won’t be voting Tory. I’ll be ‘wasting’ my vote on Lib Dems instead, in the faint hope that maybe they’ll have some influence in the unlikely event that there’s a hung parliament.

I should say at this point, by the way, that my knowledge of politics is ill-informed and limited at best. So, if I’ve got anything wrong here, feel free to let me know. If I don’t like it I’ll just ignore it, obviously.


On that note, I think I should stop talking about things I know very little about, and move on to what the Smellmycheese Party could offer the country, were it in any way real.

The Manifesto

Public Transport

  • Some kind of force field around train doors that stops passengers slowly edging forward, as if no one else can see what they’re doing, before everyone has got off the train. The force field would have a movement-triggered sensor which, upon activation, would announce “WAIT YOUR TURN!” in Brian Blessed’s voice. Because Brian Blessed is brilliant.
  • A similar system in coach toilets, or any public conveniences, which detects people pissing on seats. Instead of Brian Blessed’s voice, Gok Wan’s, shrieking “It’s all about the confidence!”, will be broadcast around a three mile vicinity, along with a projection of the offender’s image, caught mid-piss.


  • Air conditioning in doctor’s surgeries. Seriously. If you weren’t ill going in there, you’re sure as hell going to be ill after waiting for twenty five minutes in an unvented room reaching temperatures of approximately 40 degrees Celsius, while pensioners and small children hack up their phlegm in your direction.
  • Three year henna tattoos on the foreheads of cheats, reading “I’m diseased, have bad breath and definitely won’t make you come, so I really wouldn’t bother if I were you love”, or words to that effect. On reflection, that’s quite a lot to fit on a forehead. “Twat” will suffice.


  • Self checkouts that shut. the hell. UP. No, I don’t have a ‘clubcard’, yes I have placed my item in the bag and, yes, I have already inserted cash you cocky little shit, and, in a minute, I’m going to insert an ‘unexpected item’ somewhere else. Like my foot in your stupid smug face. Ha! Face, screen, whatever…
  • A nationwide ban on people wearing pyjamas to the shops, unless you live in a shop or you’re a homeless person with a mental illness. Yes students, I’m talking to you. If you’ve had time to tuck your pjs into your UGG boots, you’ve had time to put a pair of fucking jeans on. Oh how avant-garde you are with your devil-may-care attitude to clothing and your tramp chic, as you drive two metres to the Co-Op in the car Mummy and Daddy bought for you.


Right, I’m bored now and can’t be arsed thinking of any more today so I’ll continue this party political broadcast at a later date (maybe). As it stands I’m pretty sure my maifesto pisses all over Cameron’s anyway.

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