You're breaking the fourth wall Caden

Tweet My sister went shopping for wine in Asda Enniskillen today and being fascinated by supermarkets, I decided to tag along with her. I wanted to check out the most profitable Asda store in Europe. This turned out to be a regretful decision. The place was fucking hellish (Asda, that is. Enniskillen looked lovely). The initial omens were bad. Enniskillen has a tricky little network of streets and the influx of booze-thirsty southerners is too much for the town. We speculated about what it must be like at Christmas, then we speculated about what it must be like for the local population every day, then we stopped speculating because my sister's slow-building road rage had started to seep from her, and it was scary.

After a few futile loops of the Asda car-park, we ended up parked 200 yards away in Tesco. By now my sister's road rage had infected me and had me loathing everyone in or around Asda. Even though we were a pair of 'southerners up shopping', I viewed all the other 'southerners up shopping' through a noxious fog of hatred. And fucking hell, but there were plenty of them. Once in the store, I watched a swarm of activity around a pyramid constructed from 1 litre bottles of Smirnoff and decided on the spot that everyone in the spirits aisle was a 'vulturous creep'. The ambient, Babel-like chatter of a hundred different regional Irish accents left me seething for no logical reason. I mean the fucking state of these people, descending from their various fucking 'regions' to a big fucking nordie supermarket to purchase goods at a cheap price. How fucking clichéd, you hungry pack of trolley-humping bog trotters. Yeah, I was that bad.

I don't know what short-circuited in me but logic had well and truly flown out the window. By the time a smug-faced woman in Leinster jersey bumped into me with a bursting trolley that contained a spectacular half-n-half combo of gin and milupa baby formula (starting 'em off early yeah? you fucking bitch), I was looking at a sign that said "Asda is part of the Wal-Mart group" and wondering if they sold automatic weapons.

Look at these fucking bargain hunters dot com

I ended up buying one thing - Marmite Cheddar. It looked the part, niftily coated in black wax with a yellow marmite sticker,  like a more hardcore version of babybell. Before I unwrapped it I half-hoped it would have swirls of marmite running through it like rippled ice-cream. Instead, it was uniformly dirty yellow in colour, but looking closely I could make out tiny specks of the yeast extract in the cheese. It tasted underpowered. The cheddar had tang, but the marmite was a bit too subtle. Melted on toast, I'd say it would be barely noticeable.

Marmite cheddar: a terrible beauty is (not) born

If I was Pitchfork I'd give Asda Enniskillen 2.1.

I'd give Marmite Cheddar 6.6.

Today's token nod to this being a music blog is a song called 'Sheila' from Atlas Sound's Logos album. While immediately catchy, the song slips pleasantly in and out of focus the way a lot of Bradford Cox's music does. I'm sometimes reminded of those old plastic viewfinders when I listen to Atlas Sound; of looking inwards at a tableau of scratchy and faded little vistas from a time past. Thanks to Foggy Notions, Bradford makes his gazillionth visit to Dublin this year on November 21st when he will play Whelans. It's an Atlas Sound show so expect plenty from Logos (which is excellent). Tickets are €13.50.

MP3: Atlas Sound-Sheila

P.S. I noticed in Asda that the shop was festooned with green signs promising a giant 'rollback' on prices. I became unable to look at them without thinking (rather randomly) to myself "you don't rollback prices, you rollback a foreskin". I couldn't shake this puerile thought, and soon visualised giant green foreskins being rolled back over similarly huge helmets with the Asda logo on them everywhere I looked.