RICHARD ORD: Nanny state bureaucracy can be a hard pill to swallow

​After completing a spin class with my current life partner at a gym where they have lockers, but you have to supply your own lock, I decided to nip to the B&M store to buy a combination lock.

So far, so mundane, although I bet some of you are thinking ‘Spin class? What a wally.’

Anyway, I went into B&M and, as is usually the case, I got drawn into the myriad of weird and wonderful things for sale. I almost bought myself a personal headlamp (it’s a light you strap to your forehead to help you see in the dark) and was tempted to buy a bottle of fabric conditioner which was on sale at a fifth of the recommended price. It seemed like a great bargain, but it was a bottle that had been damaged and the majority of the contents had leaked out. The onus was put back onto the customer to weigh up whether the amount of conditioner left in the bottle was worth the reduced price. The thought process gave me a headache, which reminded me that I needed some paracetamol and ibuprofen.

I put a packet of each in my shopping basket along with my combination locks (they came in packs of three) and other impulse buys, namely a small tube of super glue and a packet of zingy chocolate orange Matchmakers (despite the spin class, my body is no temple).

As I approached the till, my other half spotted my headache tablets and said ‘oh, I’m running out too, will you buy me some?’

Ever chivalrous, I told her to chuck me two more packets and I put them in my basket.

As the checkout lady put the goods through, she stopped at the paracetamol and ibuprofen and told me she couldn’t sell me the four packets as there’s a two packet limit.

‘Ah,’ I said, ‘Well, only two of those packets are for me, the other two are for her,’ pointing to ‘er indoors.

‘No problem,’ my partner said, ‘I’ll buy those.’

Sorted. Except, the checkout lady was clutching the headache packets to her chest. ‘Sorry, I can’t do that.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I know you two are together. And you might be buying them for him,’ she said, directing her gaze to me.

My partner was getting agitated. ‘Well, I’ll come back later and buy them,’ she said.

‘I’d still know,’ the checkout lady said. ‘And I won’t sell you them. I could lose my job.’

What a weird situation. I mean, if I’d arrived at the checkout looking dishevelled with a trolley full of Jack Daniels, razor blades and a dozen packets of painkillers, I could understand the concern. But dressed in shorts and trainers with a basket of locks, super glue and chocolate Matchmakers?

On second thoughts, maybe the checkout lady had a point… that is a weird combo.

Fair cop, I guess.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually agree with the policy, though I feel a little common sense can applied on occasions.

A point perhaps highlighted by the words of the checkout lady as we left the store: ‘There’s nothing stopping you from buying the painkillers in the shop next door...’