I very nearly got four pints of milk for nothing today. In real terms that’s a saving of one hundred pence on our weekly shop.
And when I say I very nearly got four pints of milk, I mean that not only was I offered them but there was also just less than four pints.
I know that not because of some new Rainman-esque ability to estimate volune bourne of phlegm and lemsip but because the bags of shopping being delivered were swimming in the remainder.
The delivery driver was really good, offering me some leaky milk for nothing. And part of me was screaming out to take it. The other part was having a discussion with the screaming bit about not knowing where the leak was which would lead to a milk-filked fridge.
Not to mention that a bottle of milk with a hole in is a lot less, well, sealed that a bottle of milk with no hole in. Surely my milk would go off quicker, as the elements flooded in through the hole in the bottle.
It is kind of old school though, isn’t it, a perforated milk bottle. It’s a little bit blue tits pecking at your silver top. But when you figure it was probably done by some burly packer chucking the milk around and not a cute garden bird it does loose some of the charm.
I only put milk on the shopping as a kind of filler – we don’t need it. But it’s nice to have it. A spot of cereal. A cup of tea. All things that would benefit from milk. But we’ve done without milk for a few weeks. What’s one more week?
I’m gonna have to go to Tesco’s. I really want milk.