So you wanna work in a shop in London but your worried because you dont speak a word of the queens? Well dont be, because neither does anyone else.

I am liking my very descriptive titles for my blogs at the moment.

This recent one comes from yesterdays expedition to the shops in Ealing. Dont judge me on the shops I am about to describe, you would do the same in my financial circumstances.

So first, Wilkos, Cheap and Cheerful shop with the most agonisingly painfully long cues thats enough to make you contemplate going into Boots next door and buy everything you have in your basket for double the price. When I finally got to within three people of the front of the cue I started picking up on the conversations between the lady on the till and her current customer. Now this till lady was in way to happy of a mood which was obviously a false face that was put on to compensate for english been only, at a guess, her 4th or 5th language. I hate people who are too happy, it really fucks me off, especially when you know its bullshit as she is working in Wilkos. No one can be this happy all the time. To make things worse it was the only line out of all the tills with the option of buying a lottery ticket(another thing I hate, its only second to the premier league in giving stupid people millions of pounds for actually doing very little) so this women was also trying to get us to buy anything to do with the lottery, in which there are about 17 different fucking games she has to ask you about.

The women she was currently serving was English. I didnt work out what the till ladies nationality but judging by her broken accent it was anywhere east of Germany. A pointlessly painful conversation ensued.

The next person to be served had obviously realised what nationality the till lady was and had a fluent conversation(which to my anguish seemed to put her in an even happier mood that she had previously been) which thankfully ended all too swiftly. The women next and also infront of me was also from the same part of the world and they chatted away like the best of buddies.

Now it was my turn for the painstaking ordeal of trying to buy something in London when your only language is English. I said hello as happily as I could muster and refused her offer of a bag politely. She then went through the extensive list of lottery opportunities I had to turn down, by the end of it I sounded like I was been tortured "no, no, no, no, no". I then messed up the card payment about three times by putting the card in too early, which was annoying as she kept saying it was ready. I probably got charged loads of times and the money either went home to her family or to some underground wilkos based drug scene.

My next shop in me living the London Highlife was Iceland for some good old frozen chicken and that nice bread that needs baking for like 5 minutes before you eat it.

Since I knew what I wanted this was a rather painless ordeal and after a few minutes I was ready to join the cue. Which in truth was not hard to do, since from almost any point in the shop I could have turned 90 degrees and I would have, at some point, touched a part of the cue. A saturday afternoon in one of the cheapest places to buy food and theres only one small asian girl on the counters serving customers, shocking. It took me 2 minutes to get my things, it took me almost 15 minutes to get served. Unbelievable.

Although this girl was almost certainly English and there was none of the language barriers of the previous shop. She was actually quite good looking too. I seem to have a thing for Indian girls since moving to London. Looks like ill be buying more frozen chicken and bread.

Lewis