The joys of parenting

So, I made this terrible mistake: I accidentally went to Asda in Farnborough at 4 o'clock on a Friday afternoon, where every parent in the district takes tired kids shopping before the weekend rush.

Hell is not the word for it.

Lost among the little cherubs running amok on a sugar rush gleaned from breaking into packaging before reaching the checkout, and mums screaming "COURTNEY! GET ERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!", I hear this charming exchange:

There's a small child seated in a trolley, packets of nutrition-free calories already piled on top of him, engaged in a shouted conversation with his father. Mum tries to flee, but she cannot.

Kid: You're a retard

Dad: No, mummy's a retard

Kid: Daddy's a retard

Dad: NO! Mummy's a retard! AND THAT'S THE LAST WORD

Kid (sotto voce): ...retard...

Poor mummy.