Back to reality

Today's errand was to go and find replacement flush and ball cock bits for the bathroom WC.  Both WCs in the house will need to be replaced soon, since leaks have left them irremediably rust-stained.  They were like that when I bought the place in 1998, so I oughtn't to grizzle, really.  In these circumstances, I was looking for a cheap short-term fix.  Went into a place in the rapidly expanding desert of big sheds on the edge of the market town, thinking I'd get the bits and then price up the definitive job.  No prices on the china stuff, nor on the repair kit, which I nevertheless walked along to the till.  There, the dame wanted to know my name and address, as though bog-fettling was some sort of licensable activity.  After a few minutes tapping at her computer terminal, she went along to the shelf from which we'd selected said fettling kit, came back, wrote another paragraph on her terminal and said '€38.60'.  'Non!' said I, with a certain de Gaulle-like emphasis, 'c'est trop', and stumped out.  Back to the trusty Bricomarché for a kit that will do the job for long enough, at €15.05.  I suppose that shop N°1 has higher costs, in that they require their staff to spend so long at their computers.  But then, shop N°2 asked me for my loyalty card, wot I ain't got, but said I'd like one.  So now I have another lengthy form to fill in: name, address, marital status, date of birth, e-mail address, colour of both grandmothers' eyes, nature of property, professional status, length, girth and current status of genitalia.  (Mild hyperbole.)  I may not bother.