There is an English Shop in town! How could I have gone so many months without realizing it? Sadly, and I'm sorry if by some chance the proprietor should ever chance to see this, it is not a supremely well stocked English Shop. It's on the airy, tea cozy provisioning model, rather than jam-packed as I would wish with dubious-flavored crisps and fizzy drinks.
But I am patently ungrateful. Who is going to cater to a customer like me, who is thinking, Yes, there is Fairy washing-up liquid, but is there Persil? Yes, there is Wilkin & Sons jam, but is there Little Scarlet? Yes, there are Twiglets, but are there any other salty snacks at all? Not unless you count Weetabix or Bovril.
Indeed, I am a horrible customer. I fondled the merchandise and monologized as I did it. "Let's just see how firm these Garibaldi biscuits are," I murmured to Jane, reaching out for a pinch. "Oh. Very firm." Another patron, who was standing rather more in earshot than I thought, enjoyed this commentary. The blackcurrant pastilles were very firm, too, even for their genus.
In the end I bought nothing. Nothing! I'm a monster.