Oh sod it. Now that I"ve mentioned my problems with Asda, for your delictation and delight, below is the text of the last entry on my other blog. I can"t imagine the Eastern Daily Press will have any problems with me reproducing this on here, as I wrote it and no b****r actually reads the thing anyway:
I have been suffering from blog writer"s block for a couple of days. As I mentioned in my last entry, over the weekend, I participated in the UK amateur poker chapionships. The tournament started shortly after 2.30pm saturday. I won a few hands, lost a few hands and nothing signifcant happened until my departure shortly before 10.30pm. I discovered that weekends in a Holiday Inn in Walsall are not the the stuff that reams of flowery prose are made of, hence my dilemma. What should my next blog entry be about?
This morning, like a raincoat-wearing pervert flashing at strangers, suddenly all was revealed. My moment of epiphany came in the unlikely setting of Asda"s Norwich petrol station. Eschewing my usual setting of County Hall, I was on my merry way to a day"s work in Dereham library when I stopped for fuel. I first approached one of those pumps which allows you to pay there and then rather than having to make your way over to the member of staff in the kiosk. Unfortunately, the card reader said "Sale cancelled" when my (Asda) credit card was inserted, in the same way it had done on every visit over the last two months. The forecourt was busy, so I drove out of the exit and went back round to the entrance. As I approached one of the pumps, a member of staff was putting cones out to prevent that pump from being used. I lowered my passenger-side window and asked if some cones could be put around the pump I had tried to use as there was clearly a fault. The response was a brusque "I can"t do everything at once". Somewhat taken aback, I mentioned that I felt the pump in question had been faulty for some time, in response to which this charming lady shouted "Well go somewhere else next time".
At this point, the clouds edged aside to allow a lonely sunbeam to shine down upon me whilst the choir invisible serenaded my sanctified soul. Brothers and sisters, I saw the light and what I saw was good. Rather than waste my spiritual energy on complaining about inept, disgraceful customer service, and I use the words "customer service" in their loosest-possible meaning, it was plain I should take heed of the words of this soothsayer and in future worship at the temples of Tesco, Sainsbury or Morrisons. Hallelujah!