Author: Ali April 16, 2020

What kind of stockpiler are you?

Want to know? Try our handy quiz to find out if you're:

• an altruistic goddess
• a greedy bastard
• an excremental obsessive
• an alcoholic

Or maybe it depends when you ask.

In the early days of HM Gov briefings, long before lockdown, there was a plea to citizens not to stockpile.

And there it was! The starting gun to run for your toilet rolls!

It still baffles me that bog roll was people's first concern when shortages were threatened. As a work colleague explained, 'if I run out of toilet roll, I can use a shower head, but what if I have no gin?'

It's an image I haven't managed to err... wipe from my mind just yet.

I remember walking up to the local co-op just before Boris' expected announcement about lockdown. Ahead of me, an elderly lady's shopping basket contained a tin of cat food, a tiny packet of scones and a tin of peas, and nine toilet rolls. The cashier shook her head.

As she swiped the bar code on my wine box, I smiled. 'We all stockpile differently', I explained.

Stockpiling did make me emotional though, on the afternoon I left the emergency dentist after seriously inflammatory root canal drilling, and could not find a shop with paracetamol. Five shops and a mile of walking later, I found a pharmacist open on a Sunday evening. He looked at me suspiciously, as though I was out to score painkillers and then flog them at 500% mark-up on the street corner.

'I've just had root canal surgery,' I sniffed, lip trembling. He handed over his secret stash of 16 tablets with an understanding nod.

Apologies to the creators of this graphic, I couldn't find out how to credit you. But I do love a graph.

My own experience mirrors this. I have never had a lot of time for cars but never has access to the internet seemed so critical.

And tragically, after three weeks of lovely coffee every morning, the co-op failed me, offering nasty instant coffee or various pods and filters and bags that require a Nespresso machine or a Delonghi grinding thing or some other 'be your own Barista' gizmo.

Two days of failing to be woken properly of a morning by the correct dose of caffeine, I resorted to Amazon to deliver. Thanks to dpd and sufficient funds in my bank account, mornings are back to sort of normal.

Most critically, however, is the need to keep the wine flowing. And when I was talking to friends, this was literally the only thing they thought it was worth me blogging about.

So in that vein, I have selflessly investigated sources of online wine delivery.

My first call was on Majestic Wines.

An impressive collection and some genuinely lovely ones to try. Their Ned Pinot Grigio is gorgeous. Delivery within four or five days. Tragically they shortly afterwards stopped delivering, and it's still a bit hit and miss.

Next I switched to Virgin Wines. (I know they were set up by the evil beardy one, but they're owned by someone else now). Again delivery in about four days. Virgin seem better set up to deliver regularly than many other outfits, possibly because they are big in the market. On the other hand, I was a bit 'meh' about what they offered. Ok but not outstanding.

In searching for an alternative, I found a local supplier ready to deliver within hours. I clicked on the 'wine' tab to see the alternatives - Echo Falls and Blossom Hill. Now. I know this is a terrible global pandemic, but surely things aren't that bad yet? It's a shame they are only 12% alcohol, otherwise they would have a prima facie case for diversifying into hand sanitiser production. Actually, I have a bottle of Gordon's Gin that may yet be repurposed.

Hooray! After a three week gap, Naked Wines are back. I'd rejected them in peace time as being too expensive, but my economic perspective is changing. If you aren't spending a tenner on a round in the pub, suddenly a decent bottle a night makes more sense.

So that's wine. Meanwhile back at the supermarket, it's beginning to look like a Tesco online shop.

'You requested wholemeal loaf, we have substituted pitta bread.'

'You requested honey, we have substituted golden syrup'.

'You requested hair clippers, we have substituted nose hair trimmer.'

This last was a source of some dismay to my son, whose lengthening hair is annoying him but nose hair has not yet been too troublesome. Let's hope that we're not locked down so long that nose hair trimming is the new bog roll.